MOLDOVA STATE UNIVERSITY FACULTY OF FOREIGN LANGUAGES AND LITERATURES

ENGLISH PHILOLOGY DEPARTMENT

A READER IN ENGLISH STYLISTICS

CHIINU

2005

D.MELENCIUC. A Reader in English Stylistics. - Moldova State University, 2005. Alctuitor: Dumitru MELENCIUC. Stilistica limbii engleze (crestomaie) - USM, 2005.

INTRODUCTION This reader is a collection of theoretical materials and practical exercises intended as an aid in teaching undergraduate and postgraduate students to supplement the theoretical Course in Modern English Stylistics, which forms part of the curriculum for the English section of the Department of English Philology at Moldova State University, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures. The material is divided into several parts, each providing exercises, test questions, tasks and topics for discussion. Most of the materials are borrowed from Seminars in Style by V.A.Kukharenko (Moscow, 1971), Stylistics by I.R.Galperin (Moscow, 1971), An Essay in Stylistic Analysis by I.R. Galperin (Moscow, 1968), Comparativistics by D.Melenciuc (Chiinu, CEP USM, 2003). Most of the examples come from newspapers and fiction written by Abrahams, P. Addison, Joseph Aldington, Richard Aldridge, James Ascham, Roger Allot, Kenneth Austin, Jane Beaumont, Francis Brown, Carter Bunyan, John Burns, Robert Byron, George Gordon Carlyle, Thomas Carroll, Lewis Coleridge, Samuel Taylor Cronin, Archibald J. Cummings, Edward Defoe, Daniel Dickens, Charles Dreiser, Theodore Elyot, Thomas Empson, William Fielding, Henry Ford, Leslie Frost, Robert Galsworthy, John Goldsmith, Oliver Green, Henry, O., Hemingway, Ernest Heym, Stefan Hood, Thomas James, Henry Jerome K. Jerome Jones, James Kipling, Rudyard Lessing, Doris London, Jack Longfellow, Henry Lyiy, John Marlowe, Christopher Mark Twain Maugham, Somerset O'Hara, John , Edgar, Allan Pope, Alexander Prichard, Katherine Salinger, J. D. Scott, Walter Shakespeare, William Shaw, Bernard Shelley, Percy Bysshe Southey, Robert Sterne, Laurence Stevenson, R. L. Swift, Jonathan Swinburne, Algernon Charles Thackeray, William Makepeace Whitman, Walt Wilde, Oscar Wilson, Mitchel Wordsworth, William, etc.

GENERAL NOTES ON STYLE AND STYLISTICS

The subject of stylistics has so far not been definitely outlined. First of all there is confusion between the terms style and stylistics. The first concept is so broad that it is hardly possible to regard it as a term. We speak of style in architecture, literature, behaviour, linguistics, dress and in other fields of human activity. Even in linguistics the word style is used so widely that it needs interpretation. The majority of linguists who deal with the subject of style agree that the term applies to the following fields of investigation: 1) the aesthetic function of language, 2) expressive means in language, 3) synonymous ways of rendering one and the same idea, 4) emotional colouring in language, 5) a system of special devices called stylistic devices, 6) the splitting of the literary language into separate subsystems called styles, 7) the interrelation between language and thought and 8) the individual manner of an author in making use of language. The term style is also applied to the teaching of how to write clearly, simply and emphatically. This purely utilitarian approach to the problem of style stems from the practical necessity to achieve correctness in writing and avoid ambiguity. These heterogeneous applications of the word style in linguistics have given rise to different points of view as to what is the domain of stylistics. There is a widely held view that style is the correspondence between thought and its expression. The notion is based on the assumption that of the two functions of language, viz. communication and expression of ideas. Language is said to have two functions: it serves as a means of communication and also as a means of shaping one's thoughts. The first function is called communicative, the second - expressive, sentences specially arranged to convey the ideas and also to get the desired response. Indeed, every sentence uttered may be characterised from two sides: 1) whether or not the string of language forms expressed is something well-known and therefore easily understood and to some extent predictable, 2) whether or not the string of language forms is built anew; is, as it were, an innovation made on the spur of the moment, which requires a definite effort on the part of the listener to get at the meaning of the utterance1 and is therefore unpredictable.

In connection with the second function of language, there arises the problem of the interrelation between the thought and its expression. The expression of the thought, the utterance, is viewed from the angle of the kind of relations there may be between the language units and the categories of thinking. The concept of this interrelation has given birth to a number of well-known epigrams and sententious maxims. Here are some, which have become a kind of alter ego of the word style. "Style is a quality of language which communicates precisely emotions or thoughts, or a system of emotions or thoughts, peculiar to the author." "... a true idiosyncrasy of style is the result of an author's success in compelling language to conform to his mode of experience." "Thought and speech are inseparable from each other. Matter and expression are parts of one: speaking is a thinking out into language." (Newman) "As your idea's clear or else obscure, The expression follows, perfect or impure." (Boileau) Many great minds have made valuable observations on the interrelation between thought and expression. The main trend in most of these observations may be summarised as follows: the linguistic form of the idea expressed always reflects the peculiarities of the thought, and vice versa, the character of the thought will always in a greater or lesser degree manifest itself in the language forms chosen for the expression of the idea. In this connection the following quotation is interesting: "To finish and complete your thought! ...How long it takes, how rare it is, what an immense delight! ...As soon as a thought has reached its full perfection, the word springs into being, offers itself, and clothes the thought." (Joubert) That thought and expression are inseparable from each other is a well-established fact. But to regard this as the true essence of style is misleading, inasmuch as what is mainly a psychological problem has been turned into a linguistic one. However, although the inseparability of thought and expression is mainly the domain of logic and psychology, it must not be completely excluded from the observation of a stylicist. The character of the interrelation between the thought and its expression may sometimes explain the author's preference for one language form over another. The linguistic problem of thought and expression, mistakenly referred to as one of the problems of style, has given rise to another interpretation of the word style. The term is applied to the system of idiosyncrasies peculiar to one or another writer, and especially to writers who are recognized as possessing an ingenious turn of mind. This generally accepted notion has further contributed to the general

confusion as to how it should be understood and applied. It is only lately that the addition of the attributive 'individual' has somehow clarified the notion, though it has not put a stop to further ambiguity. The term individual style is applied to that sphere of linguistic and literary science, which deals with the peculiarities of a writer's individual manner of using language means to achieve the effect he desires. Deliberate choice must be distinguished from a habitual idiosyncrasy in the use of language units; every individual has his own manner of using them. Manner is not individual style inasmuch as the word style presupposes a deliberate choice. In order to distinguish something that is natural from something that is the result of long and perhaps painful experience, two separate terms must be used, otherwise the confusion will grow deeper. When Button coined his famous saying which, due to its epigrammatical form, became a by-word all over the world: "Style is the man himself" - he had in mind those qualities of speech which are inherent and which reveal a man's breeding, education, social standing, etc. All this is undoubtedly interwoven with individual style. A man's breeding and education will always tell on his turn of mind and therefore will naturally be revealed in his speech and writing. However a definite line of demarcation must be drawn between that which is deliberately done, in other words, that which is the result of the writer's choice and, on the other hand, that which comes natural as an idiosyncrasy of utterance. Correspondingly, let us agree to name individual choice of language means, particularly in writing, individual style and inherent, natural idiosyncrasies of speech individual manner. Individual style is sometimes identified with style in general. This, as has already been pointed out, is the result of the general confusion as to the meaning and application of the term style. The notion of individual style extends much beyond the domain of linguistics. It is here that the two separate branches of human knowledge, literature and linguistics come to grips in the most peculiar form. A writer's world outlook is one. of the essential constituents of his individual style. But world outlook cannot be included in the field of language investigation. Likewise the literary compositional design of a writer's work cannot be subjected to linguistic analysis, although this is also one of the constituents of a writer's individual style. It follows then that individual style cannot be analysed without an understanding of these and other component parts, which are not purely linguistic. Therefore Middleton Murry justly

arrives at the conclusion that "... to judge style primarily by an analysis of language is almost on a level with judging a man by his clothes." Nevertheless, analysis of an author's language seems to be the most important aspect in estimating his individual style. That this is a fact is not only because the language reflects to a very considerable extent the idea of the work as a whole, but because writers unwittingly contribute greatly to establishing the system and norms of the literary language of a given period. In order to compel the language to serve his purpose, the writer draws on its potential resources in a way, which is impossible in ordinary speech. The essential property of a truly individual style is its permanence. It has great powers of endurance. It is easily remembered and therefore yields itself to repetition. Due to the careful selection of language forms it is easily recognizable. Moreover, the form of the work, or in other words, the manner of using the language in which the ideas are wrought, assumes far greater significance than in any other style of language. It is sometimes even considered as something independent of meaning, i.e. of any idea. There are some critics who maintain that form is of paramount importance, and that in proper situations it can generate meaning. Leaving aside exaggeration of this kind, it is however necessary to point out that in belles-lettres manner of expression may contribute considerably to the meaning of the smaller units in writing (phrase, sentence, paragraph). This will be shown later when we come to analyse the linguistic nature and functions of stylistic devices. Selection, or deliberate choice of language, which we hold to be the main distinctive feature of individual style, inevitably brings up the question of norms. In the literary language the norm is the invariant of the phonemic, morphological, lexical and syntactical patterns in circulation during a given period in the development of the given language. Variants of these patterns may sometimes diverge from the invariant, but never sufficiently to become unrecognizable or misleading. The development of any literary language shows that the variants (of the levels enumerated above) will always centre around the axis of the invariant forms. The variants, as the term itself suggests, will never detach themselves from the invariant to such a degree as to claim entire independence. Yet, nevertheless, there is a tendency to estimate the value of individual style by the degree it violates the norms of the language. "It is in the breach or neglect of the rules that govern the structure of clauses, sentences, and paragraphs that the real secret of style consists,

and to illustrate this breach or observation is less easy", writes George Saintsbury. Quite a different point of view is expressed by E. Sapir, who states that ...the greatest-or shall we say the most satisfying- literary artists, the Shakespeares and Heines, are those who have known subconsciously how to fit or trim the deeper intuition to the provincial accents of their daily speech. In them there is no effect or strain. Their personal "intuition" appears as a completed synthesis of the absolute art of intuition and the innate, specialized art of the linguistic medium." The problem of variants or deviations from the norms of the literary language has long been under observation. It is the inadequacy of the concept norm that causes controversy. At every period in the development of a literary language there must be a tangible norm, which first of all marks the difference between literary and non-literary language. A too rigorous adherence to the norm brands the writer's language as bookish, no matter whether it is a question of speech or writing. But on the other hand, neglect of the norm will always be regarded with suspicion as being an attempt to violate the established signals of the language code, which facilitate and accelerate the process of communication. The freer the handling of the norms the more difficult is the exchange of thoughts and ideas. The use of variants to the norms accepted at a given stage of language development is not only permissible but to a very considerable extent indispensable. Variants interacting with invariants will guarantee the potentialities of the language for enrichment to a degree, which no artificial coinage will ever be able to reach. The norm of the language always presupposes a recognized or received standard. At the same time, it likewise presupposes vacillations from the received standard. The problem, therefore, is to establish the range of permissible vacillations. There is a constant process of gradual change taking place in the forms and meaning of the forms of language at any given period in the development of the language. It is therefore most important to understand the received standard of the given period in the language in order to comprehend the direction of its further progress. Some people think that one has to possess what is called a feeling for the language in order to be able to understand the norm of the language and its possible variants. But it is not so much the feeling of the language as the knowledge of the laws of its functioning and of its history which counts. When the feeling of the norm, which grows with the knowledge of the laws of the language, is instilled in the mind, one begins to appreciate the beauty of justifiable fluctuations. But the

norm can be grasped and established only when there are deviations from it. It is, therefore, best perceived in combination with something that breaks it. In this connection the following lines from L. V. Scherba's work Cnop Bonpoc pycc rpa are worth quoting: "... in order to achieve a free command of a literary language, even one's own, one must read widely, giving preference to those writers who deviate but slightly from the norm." "Needless to say, all deviations are to some extent normalized: not every existing deviation from the norm is good; at any rate, not in all circumstances. The feeling for what is permissible and what is not, and mainly-a feeling for the inner sense of these deviations (and senseless ones, as has been pointed out, are naturally bad), is developed through an extensive study of our great Russian literature in all its variety, but of course in its best examples." Naturally, there are no writers who do not deviate from the established norms of the language - they would be unbearably tedious if there were. Only when the feeling of the norm is well developed, does one begin to feel the charm of motivated deviations from the norm. Then L. V. Scherba adds an explanation, which throws light on the problem of deviation from the norm from the point of view of the conditions under which a deviation may take place: "I say justifiable or 'motivated' because bad writers frequently make use of deviations from the norm which are not motivated or justified by the subject matter - that is why they are considered bad writers." N. J. Shvedova in her interesting article on the interrelation between the general and the individual in the language of a writer states: "The language of a writer is a peculiar, creatively worked out concentration of the expressive means of the common language, which have undergone special literary treatment: it is a reflection of the common language of the given period, but a prismatic reflection, in which the language units have been selected and combined individually, their interrelation being seen through the prism of the writer's world outlook, his aim and his skill. The language of a writer reflects the tendencies of the common language." What we call here individual style, therefore, is a unique combination of the language units, expressive means and stylistic devices of a language peculiar to a given writer, which makes that writer's works or utterances easily recognizable. Hence individual style may be likened to a proper name. It has a nominal character. It is based on a thorough knowledge of the contemporary literary language and of earlier periods in its development as well. It allows certain

deviations from the established norms. This, needless to say, presupposes a perfect knowledge of the invariants of the norms. Individual style requires to be studied in a course of stylistics in so far as it makes use of the potentialities of language means, whatever the character of these potentialities may be. Another commonly accepted connotation of the term style is embellishment of language. This concept is popular and is upheld in some of the scientific papers on literary criticism. Language and style are regarded as separate bodies. Language can easily dispense with style, which is likened to the trimming on a dress. Moreover, style as an embellishment of language is viewed as something that hinders understanding. It is alien to language and therefore is identified with falsehood. In its extreme, style may dress the thought in such fancy attire that one can hardly get at the idea hidden behind the elaborate design of tricky stylistic devices. This notion presupposes the use of bare language forms deprived of any stylistic devices, of any expressive means deliberately employed. In this connection Middleton Murry writes: "The notion that style is applied ornament had its origin, no doubt, in the tradition of the school of rhetoric in Europe, and in its place in their teaching. The conception was not so monstrous as it is today. For the old professors of rhetoric were exclusively engaged in instructing their pupils how to expound an argument or arrange a pleading. Their classification of rhetorical devices was undoubtedly formal and extravagant... The conception of style as applied ornament... is the most popular of all delusions about style." Perhaps it is due to this notion that the word "style" itself still bears a somewhat derogatory meaning. It is associated with the idea of something pompous, showy, artificial, something that is set against simplicity, truthfulness, the natural. Shakespeare was a determined enemy of all kinds of embellishments of language. To call style embellishment of language is to add further ambiguity to the already existing confusion. A very popular notion among practical linguists, teachers of language, is that style is the technique of expression. In this sense style is generally defined as the ability to write clearly, correctly and in a manner calculated to interest the reader. Though the last requirement is not among the indispensables, it is still found in many practical manuals on style. Style in this utilitarian sense should be taught, but it belongs to the realm of grammar, and not to stylistics. It is sometimes, and more correctly, called composition. Style as the technique of expression studies the normalised forms of the language. It sets up a number of rules as to how to speak and write,

and discards all kinds of deviations as being violations of the norm. The norm itself becomes rigid, self-sustained and, to a very great extent, inflexible. Herbert Spencerl writes: "... there can be little question that good composition is far less dependent upon acquaintance with its laws, than upon practice and natural aptitude. A clear head, a quick imagination and a sensitive ear, will go far towards making all rhetorical precepts needless. He who daily hears and reads well-framed sentences, will naturally more or less tend to use similar ones." The utilitarian approach to the problem is also felt in the following statement by E. J. Dunsany, an Irish dramatist and writer of short stories: "When you can with difficulty write anything clearly, simply, and emphatically, then, provided that the difficulty is not apparent to the reader, that is style. When you can do it easily, that is genius." V. G. Belinsky also distinguished two aspects of style, making a hard and fast distinction between the technical and the creative power of any utterance. "To language merits belong correctness, clearness and fluency," he states, "qualities which can be achieved by any talentless writer by means of labour and routine." "But style - is talent itself, the very thought.'' In traditional Russian linguistics there are also adherents of this utilitarian approach to the problem of style. For instance, Prof. Gvozdev thinks that "Stylistics has a practical value, teaching students to master the language, working out a conscious approach to language". In England there are in fact two schools of stylistics - the one represented by Prof. Middleton Murry whom we have already cited and the other, that of Prof. Lucas. Prof. Murry regards style as individual form of expression. Prof. Lucas considers style from the purely practical aspect. He states that the aims of a course in style are: "a) to teach to write and speak well, b) to improve the style of the writer, and c) to show him means of improving his ability to express his ideas". It is important to note that what we here call the practical approach to the problem of style should not be regarded as something erroneous. It is quite a legitimate concept of the general theory of style. However, the notion of style cannot be reduced to the merely practical aspect because in this case a theoretical background, which is a verified foundation for each and every practical understanding, will never be worked out. Just as the relations between lexicology and lexicography are accepted to be those of theory and practice, so theoretical and practical stylistics should be regarded as two interdependent branches of linguistic science. Each of these branches may develop its own methods of investigation and

approach to linguistic data. The term style also signifies a literary genre. Thus we speak of classical style or the style of classicism; realistic style; the style of romanticism and so on. On the other hand, the term is widely used in literature, being applied to the various kinds of literary work, the fable, novel, ballad, story, etc. Thus we speak of a story being written in the style of a fable or we speak of the characteristic features of the epistolary style or the essay and so on. In this application of the term, the arrangement of what are purely literary facts is under observation; for instance, the way the plot is dealt with, the arrangement of the parts of the literary composition to form the whole, the place and the role of the author in describing and depicting events. In some of these features, which are characteristic of a literary composition, the purely literary and purely linguistic overlap, thus making the composition neither purely linguistic nor purely literary. This however is inevitable. The fact that the lines of demarcation are blurred makes the contrast between the extremes more acute, and therefore requires the investigator to be cautious when dealing with borderline cases. Finally, there is one more important application of the term style. We speak of the different styles of language. A style of language is a system of interrelated language means, which serves a definite aim in communication. Each style is recognized by the language community as an independent whole. The peculiar choice of language means is primarily dependent on the aim of the communication. One system of language means is set against other systems with other aims, and arising from this, another choice and arrangement of the language means is made. Thus, we may distinguish the following styles within the English literary language: 1) the belles-lettres style, 2) the publicistic style, 3) the newspaper style, 4) the scientific prose style, 5) the style of official documents, and presumably some others. Most of these styles belong exclusively to writing, inasmuch as only in this particular form of human intercourse can communications of any length be completely unambiguous. This does not mean, however, that spoken communications lack individuality and have no distinct styles of their own. But they have not yet been properly subjected to scientific analysis. Folklore, for example, is undoubtedly a style inasmuch as it has a definite aim in communicating its facts and ideas, and is therefore characterized by a deliberately chosen language means. But so far folklore has been too little investigated to be put on the same level of linguistic observation as the styles mentioned above. We shall not therefore make a study of those types of literature,

which began life purely as speech and were passed on by word of mouth, though many of them are today perpetuated in writing. We shall confine our attention to the generally accepted styles of language. Each style of language is characterized by a number of individual features. These can be classified as leading or subordinate, constant or changing, obligatory or optional. Each style can be subdivided into a number of substyles. The latter represent varieties of the root style and therefore have much in common with it. Still a substyle can, in some cases, deviate so far from the root style that in its extreme it may even break away. But still, a sub-style retains the most characteristic features of the root style in all aspects. Among the styles, which have been more or less thoroughly investigated are the following: 1) The belles-lettres style. It falls into three varieties: a) poetry proper; b) emotive prose and c) drama. 2) The style that we have named publicistic comprises the following substyles: a) speeches (oratory); b) essays; c) articles in journals and newspapers. 3) The newspaper style has also three varieties: a) newspaper headlines; b) brief news items and communiques and c) advertisements. 4) The scientific prose style has two main divisions, viz. the prose style used in the humanitarian sciences, and that used in the exact sciences. 5) The style of official documents, as the title itself suggests, covers a wide range of varying material which, however, can be reduced to the following groups: a) language of commercial documents, b) language of diplomatic documents, c) language of legal documents, d) language of military documents. The classification presented here is not arbitrary, the work is still in the observational stage. The observational stage of any scientific research will ensure objective data, inasmuch as it enables the student to collect facts in sufficient number to distinguish between different groups. The classification submitted above is not proof against criticism, though no one will deny that the five groups of styles exist in the English literary language. A line of demarcation must be drawn between literary stylistics and linguistic stylistics. It is necessary to bear in mind the constant interrelation between the two. Some linguists consider that the subject of linguistic stylistics is confined to the study of the effects of the message, i. e. its impact on the reader or listener. Thus Michael Riffaterre writes that "Stylistics will be a linguistics of the effects of the message, of the output of the act of communication, of its attention-compelling function."1 This point of view is influenced by recent developments in the general theory of information. Language, being one of the means of communication or, to be exact, the most important means of communication, is regarded as an instrument

by means of which the actual process of conveying ideas from one person to another is carried out. Stylistics in that case is confined to the study of expressions of thought. "Stylistics," writes Riffaterre further, "studies those features of linguistic utterance that are intended to impose the encoder's way of thinking on the decoder, i. e. studies the act of communication not as merely producing a verbal chain, but as bearing the imprint of the speaker's personality, and as compelling the addressee's attention." This point of view on style is shared by Prof. W. Porzig who says that the means which "...would produce an impression, would cause a definite impact, effect" is the science of stylistics. Quite a different definition of style and stylistics, one that is interesting in more than one way, is that given by Archibald A. Hill. "A current definition of style and stylistics," writes A. Hill, "is that structures, sequences, and patterns which extend, or may extend, beyond the boundaries of individual sentences define style, and that the study of them is stylistics." The truth of this approach to style and stylistics lies in the fact that the author concentrates on such phenomena in language as present a system, in other words on facts which are not confined to individual use. Almost the same view is held by Seymour Chatman, who writes of "style as a product of individual choices and patterns of choices among linguistic possibilities." Prof. Chatman, though he uses the word 'individual' in a different meaning, practically says the same as Prof. Hill, but unlike him, confines style to what we have called here individual style or the style of the author. A broader view of style is expressed by Werner Winter, who maintains that "A style may be said to be characterized by a pattern of recurrent selections from the inventory of optional features of a language. Various types of selection can be found: complete exclusion of an optional element, obligatory inclusion of a feature optional elsewhere, varying degrees of inclusion of a specific variant without complete elimination of competing features." The idea of distinguishing styles by various types of selection seems to be a sound one. A significant contribution to the cause of stylistics is being made by the journal Style published by the University of Arcansas. From numerous conferences, discussions, theses, monographs and articles published in our country and abroad there emerges a more or less clear statement as to what the subject of linguostylistics represents. This is: 1) The study of the styles of language as subsystems of the literary language and distinguished from each other by a peculiar set of interdependent language means and 2) The study of these means in

a system disclosing their linguistic properties and nature as well as the functioning of their laws. These two tasks of linguostylistics correspond to a certain degree 'with what Nils Eric Enkvist, of Abo Academy, Finland, has called "microstylistics" and "macrostylistics". He defines the first as "...the study of style markers and stylistics sets within the sentence or within units smaller than the sentence," and the second as "...stylistics of sentence sequences." In order to investigate these two issues it is necessary to review certain general linguistic phenomena on which the science of stylistics rests. The subject of stylistics can be outlined as the study of the nature, functions and structure of stylistic devices, on the one hand, and, on the other, the study of each style of language as classified above, i. e. its aim, its structure, its characteristic features and the effect it produces, as well as its interrelation with other styles of language. The task we set before ourselves is to make an attempt to single out such problems as are typically stylistic and cannot therefore be treated in any other branch of linguistic science. Now a question arises: why are some of the notions of style enumerated not treated in this book? The reply is that, on the one hand, not all of these notions are relevant to the domain of linguistics, and, on the other, this work is intended to be a theoretical course of stylistics in which only crucial issues shall betaken up. Indeed, individual styles or manners of writing do not come under our observation, this being an entirely different field of linguistic and literary study. It has already been pointed out that individual manner, though it may conform to the norms of the language to a greater or lesser degree, will nevertheless be the practical realization of abstract language units. In other words here we have language-inaction that is, speech. Stylistic devices are abstract categories of language-as a system, that is, language proper. But the practical application of these abstract categories, being spontaneous, represents language-in-action, or speech. This is in accordance with the laws, which govern the functioning of every language fact. We shall therefore make an extensive analysis of individual usage of stylistic devices inasmuch as they disclose their as yet unknown or unused potentialities. But it must be remembered that the use made in this book of individual styles, i. e. the writings of well-known English men-of-letters, will not have as its aim the generalization of the data obtained. Our task is to show the variable functioning of stylistic devices. This will help us to define the means existing in the English language, and perhaps in other languages as well, which are used to serve definite aims of communication. It is obvious that observation of the variety of uses to

which a stylistic device can advantageously be put, can only be carried out where there is a field for innovation and contextual meanings, viz., in the style of belleslettres. As regards to style as a technique of expression, we hold the view that this very important issue must be presented in a special work on composition. In the recent development of the theory of language the dichotomy of language and speech occupies an important place. Language-as-a-system may figuratively be depicted as a usurper or an exploiter of language-in-action, or speech. Whenever Speech produces anything that can be given a name, whatever it may be, it immediately becomes a fact of language-as-a-system. It is hallowed into a language means. So it is with stylistic devices. Being born in speech, after recognition as rightful members of the system in which they generally operate, they are duly taken away from their mother's breast, Speech, and made independent members of the family, Language. These features have been carefully studied and on the basis of previous investigation into the linguistic character of stylistic devices brought into a kind of system. It is sometimes enough merely to point out the interrelation of the characteristic features of a given style of language to be able to tell one style from another. A course in this relatively new science, stylistics, will be profitable to those who have a sound linguistic background. The expressive means of English and the stylistic devices used in the literary language can only be understood (and made use of) when a thorough knowledge of the phonetic, grammatical and lexical data of the given language has been attained. The stylistic devices (SD) must be observed on different levels: on the phonetic, morphemic, lexical, phraseological, syntactical levels and on the utterance level. If a thorough command of language data has not been acquired, the subtleties of the theory of stylistics may escape the student or may prove to be beyond his grasp. For example, we can easily distinguish between a piece of emotive prose and a business letter. Just as easily can we tell a newspaper brief from a scientific thesis; a poem from a military document; a piece of oratory from a diplomatic pact and so on. Apparently our knowledge of the characteristic features of different styles of language is based not only on our intuition. There must be some objective criteria which the system relies on and which we can define as the leading or principal features of a given style. A special part of this book is devoted to a description of the styles, which have already manifested themselves as more or less independent systems. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.9-23).

EXPRESSIVE MEANS (EM) AND STYLISTIC DEVICES (SD) In linguistics there are different terms to denote those particular means by which a writer obtains his effect. Expressive means, stylistic means, stylistic devices and" other terms are all used indiscriminately. For our purposes it is necessary to make a distinction between expressive means and stylistic devices. All stylistic means of a language can be divided into expressive means (EM), which are used in some specific way, and special devices called stylistic devices (SD). The expressive means of a language are those phonetic means, morphiological forms, means_of word-building, and lexical, phraseological and syntactical forms, all of which function in the language for emotional or logical intensification of the utterance. These intensifying forms of the language, wrought by social usage and recognized by their semantic function have been fixed in grammars and dictionaries. Some of them are normalized, and good dictionaries label them as intensifiers. In most cases they have corresponding neutral synonymous forms. The most powerful expressive means of any language are the phonetic ones. The human voice can indicate subtle nuances of meaning that no other means can attain. Pitch, melody, stress, pausation, drawling, drawling out certain syllables, whispering, a sing-song manner of speech and other ways of using the voice are more effective than any other means in intensifying the utterance emotionally or logically. Among the morphological expressive means the use of the Present Indefinite instead of the Past Indefinite must be mentioned first. This has already been acknowledged as a special means and is named the Historical Present. In describing some past event the author uses the present tense, thus achieving a more vivid picturisation of what was going on. The use of shall in the second and third person may also be regarded as an expressive means. Compare the following synonymous statements and you will not fail to observe the intensifying element in the sentence with shall (which in such cases always gets emphatic stress). He shall do it (= I shall make him do it). He has to do it (= It is necessary for him to do it). Among word-building means we find a great many forms, which, serve to make the utterance more expressive and fresh or to intensify it. The diminutive suffixes as -y(ie), -let, e. g. dear, dearie, stream, streamlet, add some emotional colouring to the words. We may also refer to what are called neologisms and nonce-words formed with non-productive suffixes or with Greek roots, as: mistressmanship, cleano-rama, walkathon. Certain affixes have gained such a power of

expressiveness that they begin functioning as separate words, absorbing all of the generalizing meaning they usually attach to different roots, as for example: 'isms and ologies'. At the lexical level there are a great many words, which due to their inner expressiveness, constitute a special layer. There are words with emotive meaning" only, like interjections, words which have both referential and emotive meaning, like some of the qualitative adjectives; words, which still retain a twofold meaning; denotative and connotative; or words belonging to special groups of literary English or of non-Standard English (poetic, archaic, slang, vulgar, etc.) and some other groups. The expressive power of these words cannot be doubted, especially when they are compared with the neutral vocabulary. ' The same can be said of the set expressions of the language. Proverbs and sayings as well as catchwords form a considerable number of language units which serve to make speech more emphatic, mainly from the emotional point of view. Their use in every-day speech can hardly be overestimated. Some of these proverbs and sayings are so well-known that their use in the process of communication passes almost unobserved; others are rare and therefore catch the attention of the reader or the listener. Here is an example of a proverb used by Dickens in "Dombey and Son" to make up a simile. "As the last straw breaks the laden camel's back, this piece of underground information crushed the sinking spirits of Mr. Dombey." In every-day speech you often hear such phrases as "Well, it will only add fuel to the fire", and the like, which can easily be replaced by synonymous neutral expressions, like "It will only make the situation worse." Finally at the syntactical level there are many constructions, which, being set against synonymous ones, will reveal a certain degree of logical or emotional emphasis. Let us compare the following pairs of structures: "I have never seen such a film." "Never have I seen such a film." Mr. Smith came in first." "It was Mr. Smith who came in first." The second structure in each pair contains emphatic elements. They cause intensification_of the utterance: in the first case emotional in character, in the second, logical. "In the English language there are many syntactical patterns which serve to intensify emotional quality. Examples of these emotional constructions are: He is a brute of a man, is John. Isn't she cute! Fool that he was! These expressive means of the English language have so far been very little investigated except, perhaps, certain set expressions and to some extent affixation. Most of them still await researchers. They are widely used for stylistic purposes, but these purposes likewise have not yet been adequately explained and

hardly at all specified. Yet they exist in the language as forms that can be used for emphasis, i. e., to make a part of the utterance more prominent and conspicuous, as a segmental analysis of the utterance shows. This inevitably calls for a more detailed analysis of the nature of the emphatic elements, which we have named expressive means of the language. Not infrequently, as we shall see later, some expressive means possess a power of emotional intensification, which radiates through the whole of the utterance. Lately a new concept has been introduced into linguistics- that of suprasegmental analysis. This takes into account not only what the words mean in the given context, but also what new shades of meaning are at issue when the utterance is analysed as a whole. The expressive means of the language are studied respectively in manuals of phonetics, grammar, lexicology and stylistics. Stylistics, however, observes not only the nature of an expressive means, but also its potential capacity of becoming a stylistic device. What then is a stylistic device (SD)? It is a conscious and intentional literary use of some of the facts of the language" (including expressive means), in which the most essential features (both structural and semantic) of the language forms are raised to a generalized level and thereby present a generative model. Most stylistic devices may be regarded as aiming at the further intensification of the emotional, or logical emphasis contained in the corresponding expressive means. This conscious transformation of a language fact into a stylistic device has been observed by certain linguists, whose interests in scientific research have gone beyond the boundaries of grammar. Thus A. A. Potebnja writes: "As far back as in ancient Rome and Greece and with few exceptions up to the present time, the definition of a figurative use of a word has been based on the contrast between ordinary speech, used in its own, natural, primary meaning and transferred speech." A. A. Potebnja thus shows how the expressive means of the Russian language are transformed into stylistic devices. He describes how Gogol uses the literal repetition characteristic of folklore instead of allusions and refrences. The birth of a SD is not accidental. Language means which are used with more or less definite aims of communication and in one and the same function in various passages of writing, begin gradually to develop new features, a wider range of functions and become a relative means of expressiveness alongside the already recognized expressive means of the language, like proverbs or sayings, diminutive suffixes and the like. These SDs form a special group of language means, which are more abstract in_nature than the expressive means of the language. It would,

perhaps be more correct to say that unlike expressive means, stylistic devices are patterns of the language whereas the expressive means do not form patterns. They are just like words themselves, they are facts of the language, and as such are, or should be, registered in dictionaries. This can be illustrated in the following manner: Proverbs and sayings are facts of language. They are collected in dictionaries. There are special dictionaries of proverbs and sayings. It is impossible to arrange proverbs and sayings in a form that would present a pattern even though they have some typical features by which it is possible to determine whether or not we are dealing with one. These typical features are: rhythm, sometimes rhyme and/or alliteration. But the most characteristic feature of a proverb or a saying lies not in its formal linguistic expression, but in the content-form of the utterance. As is known, a proverb or a saying is a peculiar mode of utterance, which is mainly characterized by its brevity. The utterance itself, taken at its face value, presents a pattern, which can be successfully used for other utterances. The peculiarity of the use of a proverb lies in the fact that the actual wording becomes a pattern, which needs no new wording to suggest extensions of meaning, which are contextual. In other words a proverb presupposes a simultaneous application of two meanings: the face value or primary meaning, and an extended meaning drawn from the context, but bridled by the face-value meaning. In other words the proverb itself-becomes a vessel into which new content is poured. The actual wording of a proverb, its primary meaning, narrows the field of possible extensions of meaning, i. e. the filling up of the form. That is why we may regard the proverb as a pattern of thought. So it is in every other case at any other level of linguistic research. Abstract formulas offer a wider range of possible applications to practical purposes than concrete words, though they have the same purpose. The interrelation between expressive means and stylistic devices can be worded in terms of the theory of information. Expressive means have a greater degree of predictability than stylistic devices. The latter may appear in an environment, which may seem alien and therefore be only slightly or not at all predictable. Expressive means are commonly used in language, and are therefore easily predictable. Stylistic devices carry a greater amount of information because if they are at all predictable they are less predictable than expressive means. It follows that stylistic devices must be regarded as a special code which has still to be deciphered. Stylistic devices are generally used sparingly, lest they should

overburden the utterance with information. Not every stylistic use of a language fact will come under the term SD. There are practically unlimited possibilities of presenting any language fact in what is vaguely called its stylistic use. But this use in no way forms an SD. For a language fact to become an SD there is one indispensable requirement, viz. that it should be so much used in one and the same function that it has become generalized in its functions. True, even a use coined for the occasion that is a nonce use can, and very often does create the necessary conditions for the appearance of an SD. Thus many facts of English grammar are said to be used with ^a stylistic function, e. g. some of the English morphemes are used in definite contexts as full words, but these facts are not SDs of the English language. They are still wandering in the vicinity of the realm of stylistic devices without being admitted into it. Perhaps in the near future they will be accepted as SDs, but in the meantime they are not. This can indirectly be proved by the fact that they have no special name in the English language system of SDs. Compare such SDs as metaphor, metonymy, oxymoron, parallel construction and the like. These have become facts of a special branch of linguistic science, viz., stylistics. All these facts, however, are facts of general linguistics as well. But in general linguistics they are viewed as means either of creating new meanings of words, or of serving the purpose of making the utterance more comprehensible (cf. the repetition of the subject of a sentence when there is a long attributive clause following the subject, which breaks the natural sequence of the primary members of the sentence and therefore requires the repetition of the subject). So far stylistic devices have not been recognized as lawful members of the system of language. They are set apart as stylistic phenomena, this being regarded as a special domain, not part and parcel of the system of language. But the process of the development of language does not take into consideration the likes or dislikes of this or that linguist, it -establishes its own paths along which the formation of the whole system of a language is moulded. The stylistic devices of a highly developed language like English or Russian have brought into the literary language a separate body of means of expression, which have won recognition as a constituent to be studied in the branch of language study named Stylistics. And yet some scholars still regard stylistic devices as violations of the norms of the language. It is this notion, which leads some prominent linguists (G. Vandryes, for example) to the conclusion that "The Belles-Lettres Style is always a reaction against the common language; to some extent it is a jargon, a literary jargon, which

may have varieties." The study of the linguistic nature of SDs in any language therefore becomes an essential condition for the general study of the functions of the SDs and ultimately for the system oi the language in general, not excluding such elements of language as deal with the emotional aspect. It is in view of this particular problem that so much attention is paid in this book to the analysis of the expressive means (EMs) and stylistic devices (SDs), their nature and functions, their classification and possible interpretations. They occupy considerable part of the book and constitute the concrete linguistic body of the manual. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.24-29). SOME NOTES ON THE PROBLEM OF THE ENGLISH LITERARY LANGUAGE (STANDARD ENGLISH) In order to get an objective description of the nature, peculiarities and functional characteristics of the styles and stylistic devices of language, it is necessary to make clear what is meant by the literary language. Literary language is a historical category. It exists as a variety of the national language. The division of the language into literary and vernacular only means that there are, as it were, a rough unpolished tongue and one wrought by men-of-letters."1 The literary language is that variety of the national language, which imposes definite morphological, phonetic, syntactical, lexical, phraseological and stylistic norms. It allows modifications but within the frame work of the system of established norms. It casts out some of the forms of language, which are considered to be beyond the established norm. The norm of usage is established by the language community at every given period in the development of the language. It is ever changing and therefore not infrequently evasive. At every period the norm is in a state of fluctuation and it requires a very sensitive and efficient eye and ear to detect and specify these fluctuations. Sometimes we may even say that two norms co-exist. But in this case we may be positive that one of the co-existing forms of the language will give way to its rival and either vanish from the language entirely or else remain on its outskirts. In this connection it will not come amiss to note that there are two conflicting tendencies in the process of establishing the norm: 1. preservation of the already existing norm, sometimes with attempts to re-establish old forms of the language; 2. introduction of new norms not yet firmly established. In this connection it will be interesting to quote the following lines from H. C. Wyld's "History of Modern

Colloquial English." "If it were necessary "to attempt to formulate the general tendencies which have been discernible in Received Standard English during the last three centuries and a half, and which have been increasingly potent during the last hundred and fifty years, we should name two, which are to some extent opposed, but both of which are attributable to social causes. The first is the gradual decay of ceremoniousness and formality, which has overtaken the speech and modes of address, no less than the manners, of good society. The second of the effort - sometimes conscious and deliberate, sometimes unconscious after correctness' or correctitude, which, on the one hand, has almost eliminated the use of oaths and has softened away many coarsenesses and crudities of expression - as we should now feel them to be, however little squeamish we may be - while on the other it has, by a rigid appeal to the spelling - the very worst and most unreliable court for the purpose - definitely ruled out, as 'incorrect' or 'slipshod' or 'vulgar', many pronunciations and grammatical constructions which had arisen in the natural course of the development of English, and were formerly universal among the best speakers. Both of these tendencies are due primarily to the social, political and economic events in our history... These social changes have inevitably brought with them corresponding changes in manners and in speech... but the speech and habits of a lifetime are not changed in a moment, as a vesture. Much of the old remains, and slowly and imperceptibly the newcomers react upon their environment, almost as much as they are influenced by it. Thus, for instance, it is suggested that the Middle Class Puritan ideals have gradually brought about a greater reticence of expression and a more temperate use of expletives, and also a greater simplicity of manners, from which many of the airs and graces of the older were eliminated. Again, a highly cultivated and intellectual section of the Middle Class have played a prominent part in Church and State since the time of Elizabeth. We see under that monarch a generation of courtiers, statesmen, and prelates, who were also scholars, and even some who... were educational reformers and writers upon language, as well as statesmen. The influence of these learned courtiers would be in the direction of correctness and elegance of utterance, in opposition to the more careless and unstudied speech of the mere men of fashion." It is interesting to note that much of what was considered a violation of the norm in one period of the development of a language becomes acknowledged and is regarded as perfectly normal in another period. Many words and constructions, which were once considered illiterate have become literary. And no effort was

spared to ban innovations, particularly in the sphere of vocabulary, by the purists of any given period. But most of their efforts were in vain. The people, who are the only lawgivers of the language, gradually accepted changes in all language levels and in vocabulary. There is no hard and fast division between the literary and non-literary language. They are interdependent. The literary language constantly enriches its vocabulary and forms from the inexhaustible resources of the vernacular. It also adopts some of its syntactical peculiarities and by so doing, gives them the status of norms of the literary language. Thus, selection is the most typical feature of the literary language. It is interesting to note that the process of selecting and admitting lexical or morphological forms into the literary language is not a conscious effort on the part of scholars. It is rather a reluctant concession than a free and deliberate selection. When a linguistic item circulating in the nonliterary language gains admission into the sacred precincts of the literary language, it is mostly due to the conscious choice of the man-of-letters, who finds either an aesthetic value in the given unit, or some other merit that will justify its recognition as a lawful member of the literary language. This, however, is not the case with structural units. As the national language is the creation of the people as a whole, morphological and syntactical changes, which gradually and imperceptibly take place in their speech from one generation to another, cannot fail in the long run to enter the literary language. Men-of-letters not only write the language, they also speak it and in most cases just like any one of their countrymen. Newly-coined words, or neologisms, as they are called, which are created according to the productive models of word-building in the given language do not go beyond the boundaries of the literary norms. If a newly coined word is understood by the community, it may become a fact of the literary language. But the literary language casts off any form that is unrecognizable. The development of the literary language is governed by its own laws. It is highly resistant to innovations of speech. The English literary language was particularly regulated and formalized during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The influence of the men-of-letters on this process can hardly be overestimated. Some of them, none-the-less, hindered the natural, organic process of development. Baugh' points out that Swift, for example, "in matters of language... was a conservative." Byron on the other hand was very liberal and introduced into the literary language many new words and phrases. Not all of them gained recognition and stayed in the literary language; but nevertheless they were facts of the literary

language by their very nature. Take for example the word "weatherology" coined by Byron. The literary language greatly influences the non-literary language. Many words, constructions and particularly phonetic improvements have been introduced through it into the English colloquial language. This influence had its greatest effect in the 19th century with the spread of general education, and in the present century with the introduction of radio and television into the daily lives of the people. Many words of a highly literary character have passed into the non-literary language, often undergoing peculiar morphological and phonetic distortions in the process. The non-literary language manifests itself in all aspects of the language: phonetic, morphological, lexical and syntactical. Such formerly dialectal peculiarities as m' instead of ing; [a:] instead of [ae]; the dropping of (h) and the insertion of (h) at the beginning of some words; [ai] instead of [ei], [rain] - [rein], are typical phonetic peculiarities of non-literary English. The difficulty that one faces when attempting to specify the characteristic features of the non-literary variety lies mainly in the fact that it does not present any system. The best way to check this or that form of non-literary English is to contrast it to the existing. Literary English is almost synonymous with the term Standard English. Standard English is best described in an interesting book written by Randolph Quirk, Professor of English language in the University of London, the title of which is "The Use of English." He states: "We have seen that Standard English is basically an ideal, a mode of expression that we seek when we wish to communicate beyond our immediate community with members of the wider community of the nation as a whole. As an ideal, it cannot be perfectly realised, and we must expect that members of different 'wider communities' (Britain, America, Nigeria, for example) may produce different realisations. In fact, however, the remarkable thing is the very high degree of unanimity, -the small amount of divergence. Any of us can read a newspaper printed in Leeds or San Francisco or Delhi without difficulty and often even without realising that there are differences at all." Cockney, regarded as the remnants of the London dialect, seems to be growing into a generic term for any form of non-Standard English in Britain, although non-standard varieties of English exist in territorial variants. Literary English is indifferent to territorial usage. Standard English is an abstraction, an ideal. To use present-day terminology, Standard English is a kind of invariant, which stands above all kinds of variants of English both within and without Great Britain. This ideal helps to establish more or less strict norms for all aspects of the

language. The publication of dictionaries does much to establish the literary language norms. As a matter of fact it is impossible to establish any norm once and for all. At the very moment it is established, it begins to fluctuate. Such fluctuations not infrequently result in considerable changes. And the compilers of English dictionaries are forced willy nilly to acknowledge a variant and present it as co-existing alongside the one previously recognized as solely acceptable. This is particularly the case with reference to pronunciation. The scholar fixing the language norm is made to bow to his majesty the people. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.30-33).

A BRIEF OUTLINE OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ENGLISH LITERARY LANGUAGE The English literary language has had a long and peculiar history. Throughout the stages of its development there has been a struggle for progressive tendencies, which on the one hand aim at barring the language from the intrusion of contaminating elements such as jargonisms, slang, vulgarisms and the like, and on the other hand at manifesting themselves in protest against the reactionary aspirations of some zealous scholars to preserve the English language in a fixed form. The English language, as is known, is the result of the integration of the tribal dialects of the Angles, Saxons and Jutes who occupied the British Isles in the 3rd5th centuries. The first manuscripts of the language belong to the 8th century. But the language of the 8th and consecutive centuries is so unlike present day English that Englishmen do not understand it. This language is called Anglo-Saxon or Old English. Old English is a dead language, like Latin or classic Greek. Like them and like the Russian language, it is an inflected language. The Old English period lasted approximately until the end of the twelfth century. During the next stage in its development the English language rapidly progressed towards its present state. By this time it had greatly enlarged its vocabulary by borrowings from Norman French and other languages. The structure of the language had considerably changed due to the loss of most of the inflections and also to other very important changes. By the middle of the thirteenth century Norman French, which had been the official language since the Norman Conquest in 1066, was almost completely

ousted by English. In 1362 Parliament was first opened in English, and a few years later court proceedings were ordered to be carried on in English and not in French, "which was too little known." The New English period, as it is called, is usually considered to date from the fifteenth century. This is the beginning of the English language known, spoken and written at the present time. This period cannot yet be characterized by any degree of uniformity in the language. The influence of the various dialects was still strongly felt, but the London dialect was gradually winning general recognition. According to many historians of the English language, by the latter part of the 15th century the London dialect had been accepted as the standard, at least in writing, in most parts of the country. This should to a very great extent be attributed to Caxton, the first English printer, who in his translations and in the books he printed, used the current speech of London. Caxton writes that he was advised by learned men to use the most curious terms that he could find, and declares that he found himself in a dilemma "between the plain, rude and curious. But in my judgement", he goes on, "the common terms that be daily used been lighter to understand than the old and ancient English." Puttenham, author of "The Art of English Poesie," declares that as the norm of literary English "... ye shall therefore take the usual speech of the court, and that of London and the shires lying about London within LX (sixty) miles and not much above." But the process of establishing the London speech as a single norm throughout the country was very slow and hardly perceptible. Even the language of the 16 th century according to C.Wyld "...both in printed works and in private letters, still shows considerable dialectal individualism. The Standard... is not yet completely fixed." In the sixteenth century literary English began markedly to flourish. The rapid development of printing went parallel with the general growth of culture, to which much was contributed by the two universities, Oxford and Cambridge. In the second half of the 16th century, a century marked by the political and economic rise of England, literature began to flourish in all forms, drama, poetry and prose. The works of literary criticism written at the time show the interest awakened in poetry and drama. Frequent translations were now made from the Greek and Latin classic writers. Edmund Spenser, Christopher Marlowe, William Shakespeare, and later, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher and many other writers of the period exerted a very great influence on the growth and perfection of the English literary language.

The freedom in the use of language so characteristic of this epoch was often subjected to wise and moderate restrictions set by these writers. So, for example, Ben Jonson, while accepting Quintillian's statement that "...custome is the most certain mistress of language," at the same time warns "...not to be frequent with every day coining," nor to use words from past ages which were no longer in use, that is, archaic words, as for instance, Chaucerisms. In their use of the language there were two tendencies among the writers of this age: one was the free and almost unrestricted use of new words and forms, coined or imported into the English language; the other was the revival of archaic words, the latter being a counter-weight to the former. Two names may be called to mind as representing the two tendencies: Spencer on the one hand, Shakespeare on the other. Spencer tried to preserve the old English words, especially those denoting abstract ideas, which had been replaced by words of French or Latin origin. He praised these words as being more expressive than the borrowed ones. On the contrary, Shakespeare advocated in his sonnets and plays the unrestricted use of words of all kinds and particularly new coinages. Shakespeare himself coined many new words. Marlowe and Fletcher drew widely on the resources of vernacular English and this, to a large extent, explains the remarkable vigour and expressiveness of their language. To give a general idea of the factors influencing the development of literary English in the 15th and 16th centuries, it will suffice to point out the following three: 1.) A common interest in classical literature during the Renaissance and hence the application of classical grammar, spelling and rhetoric to the English language. Attempts were made by scholars to force the classical norms into the English language. 2) A desire to keep the language pure, to retain and revive old English words and as far as possible old English morphological and syntactical forms. This tendency has been called archaic purism. The influence of archaic purism led to an acute struggle against the intrusion of foreign words, particularly those of Latin and continental French origin, and as a consequence of this struggle an orientation towards the obsolescent forms of the language. 3) An orientation towards the living, developing and rapidly changing norms of the colloquial language. Free use was made of the inherent properties of the English language as they had materialized by this time, for example, free use of conversion, word composition, derivation and semantic change. In the domain of syntax and word order too, there was already considerable freedom of usage. The Protestant

Reformation, which gradually gained strength and popularity throughout the 16th century, played a great role in the development of the English literary language. Books on religion, translated or composed in strong, simple, living English with few "learned" words, and understandable to the masses of ordinary people, were by act of Parliament placed in the churches and read aloud. Parts of the Bible and later the whole Bible, were also translated in the same manner. By order of Queen Elizabeth I a Bible was placed in every church and people flocked to read it or hear it read. (Up to the reign of Elizabeth it had been forbidden to read the Bible in English and people were punished and burnt to death for doing so.) The interaction of these three factors is reflected in the grammars and books on rhetoric of the time, which serve to illustrate to the present-day reader the fluctuation of the norms then existing, as well as the linguistic ideas, tastes and credos of the scholars who laid down the law. The uncritical applications of the laws of Latin grammar to the norms observed in the English language were objected to even in the 16th century. Philip Sidney, for instance, stated that the English language must have its own grammar. He saw that such grammatical categories as case, gender, tense and mood, which are natural to Latin, could not be applied mechanically to English. However, books on rhetoric have played a considerable part in establishing the norms of literary English in the 16th as well as in the following centuries. As far back as in 1524 Leonard Cox published a textbook entitled "The Arte or Crafte of Rhetorique" which was followed by a series of works of this kind. Many of them have helped to lay the foundation for the study of the laws of composition and of the ways and means to make writing emphatic in order that the desired effect on the reader should be achieved and the main function of language-communicationguaranteed to the full. One of the most popular works of the time was Thomas Wilson's "Arte of Rhetorique" published in 1553. Following the ancient Latin tradition of rhetoric, Wilson divides style of expression into three kinds: elevated, middle and low, a division, which was in vogue up to the 19th century and which greatly influenced the course of development of the English literary language. Writing devoid of all ornament was considered coarse. It was in this period, the 16th century, that a literary trend known as euphuism came into vogue. The euphuistic manner of writing was characterized by a pedantic affectation of elegant and high-flown language abounding in all kinds of stylistic devices. It was not only the syntactical aspect of the English literary language that was influenced by the laws of rhetoric.

The choice of words was also predetermined by the laws set by the rhetoricians of the 16th century. Latin words, either directly or through the French language, poured into the English literary language because English had never had, or had lost the words required to give expression to scientific ideas. Sir Thomas More, for example, introduced into the English language a great many words in spite of the opposition of the purists of the time. To him the English language owes such words as absurdity, acceptance, anticipate, compatible, comprehensible, congratulate, explain, fact, indifference, monopoly, necessitate, obstruction, paradox, pretext and many others. Philip Sidney is said to have coined such words as emancipate, eradicate, exist, extinguish, harass, meditate and many other words and phrases. As illustrations we have chosen words, which have found a permanent place in the English stock of words. Most of them have already passed into the neutral layer of words. A great many words introduced by men-of-letters in the 16th century and later have disappeared entirely from English literature. Further, there were great difficulties in spelling. No two writers spelt all words exactly alike. From the Old English period up to the 15th century there had been chaos in English spelling. The Old English system, which was phonetic, had broken down because the language had changed. Then besides that, no writer knew exactly how to spell borrowed words - in the Latin, the French or the NormanFrench way, or according to the rules, which individual writers applied in their own way when spelling words of English origin. Even the publication of-dictionaries, which began in the middle of the 17th century, did not fix English spelling. One of the first dictionaries was called "Table Alphabetical conteyning and teaching the true writing and understanding of hard usual English words." This was the first dictionary confined entirely to the English language. Spelling was one of the problems, which the English language began consciously to face in the 16th century and it was fairly settled before the end of the 17th century. And yet this period is characterized mainly by freedom of the norms used in the literary language. The interaction of the lively everyday speech and the unstable rules of English grammar led to a peculiar enrichment of the literary language. New word combinations were coined with ease and new meanings attached to them (for example to come about in the meaning of 'to happen'; to come by= 'to get'; to come upon = 'to near'). The same can be observed in the composition of compound words, particularly words with adjectives as first components (for example with the word deep - deep-divorcing; deep-premediated; deep-searched; deep-sore;

deep-sweet; deep-wounded; deep-brained. It is interesting to notice in passing that the element deep in these examples loses its primary logical meaning and assumes a new meaning, half-grammatical, which we call emotional. The word thus assumes a new quality: it is a semi-prefix, indicating the intensification of the quality embodied in the second adjective. The free use of words in spite of the restrictions imposed on this freedom by certain ardent adherents of the "purity" of the language, resulted in the appearance of new meanings of words. First they were perceived as contextual, probably accompanied by suggestive intonation and gestures, and then, in the course of time, through frequency of repetition, the new meanings were absorbed into the semantic structure of the word. As an illustration of the instability of the norms of usage it will be interesting to point out the variety of prepositions that could be used with verbs. Thus the verb to repent was used with the following prepositions: 'repent at', 'repent for', 'repent over', repent in', 'repent of. The syntactical patterns of this period were also marked by noticeable variety arising from the relative freedom of usage. This freedom is observable not only in the word order but in the use of double negations, as in say nothing neither, and the like. In morphology it is marked by the use of both adjectives and adverbs in the function of modifiers of verbs, as in to speak plain, she is exceeding wise and the like. The fluctuation in the norms of the English literary language of the 16th century is ascribed to a variety of causes. One is that the London dialect, which formed the core of the national literary language, was not yet spoken all over the country. Consequently, an educated man who came, let us say, from the North of England, still retained in his speech certain of the morphological and syntactical forms of his native dialect. Then, in view of the fact that the norms of the literary language were not yet hard and fast, he used these dialectal forms in his writing. There was a great influx of forms from the common speech of the people into the literary language, which, however, was still the domain of the few. Students of the history of the English language give a number of reasons explaining this influx of forms from the everyday language of the people. One of them is that after the Church of England refused to acknowledge the authority of Rome, church services had been translated from Latin into simple, strong English. Services were held daily and long sermons delivered in English. Many of the clergy found that the literary English did not have much more meaning to the people than church Latin had had, so they modified it, bringing it closer to the speech of the people among whom they lived.

Clergymen who were unable to write their own sermons used those of the great protestant reformers of the 16th century, which were written in simple forceful English with a minimum of borrowed words. It was in the choice of the words to be used in literary English that the sharpest controversy arose and in which the two tendencies of the period were most apparent. On the one hand there was a fierce struggle against "ink-horn" terms as they were then called. Among the learned men of the 16th century who fought against the introduction of any innovations into the English language must be mentioned Sir John Cheke, Roger Ascham and in particular Thomas Wilson, whose well known "Arte of Rhetorique" has already been mentioned. He severely attacked "ink-horn" terms. Some of the words that were objected to by Thomas Wilson were affability, ingenious, capacity, celebrate, illustrate, superiority, fertile, native, confidence and many others that are in common use to-day. Puttenham, although issuing a warning against "inkhorn terms", admits having to use some of them himself, and seeks to justify them in particular instances. He defends the words scientific, major-dome, politien ('politician'), conduct (verb) and others. On the other hand, there was an equally fierce struggle against the tendency to revive obsolete words and particularly the vocabulary and phraseology of Chaucer. Ben Jonson in this connection said: "Spencer in affecting the ancients writ no language." Sir John Cheke, one of the purists of the century, tried to introduce English equivalents for the French borrowings: he invented such words as mooned ('lunatic'), foresyer ('prophet'), byword ('parable'), freshman ('proselyte'), crossed ('crucified'), gainrising ('resurrection'). Of these words only freshman in the sense of 'first-year student' and byword in the sense of 'a saying' remain in the language. The tendency to revive archaic words however has always been observed in poetic language. The 16th century may justly be called crucial in establishing the norms of present-day literary English. Both of the tendencies mentioned above have left their mark on the Standard English of to-day. Sixteenth-century literary English could not, however, be called Standard English because at that time there was no received standard. Seventeenth-century literary English is characterized by a general tendency to refinement and regulation. The orientation towards classical models, strong enough in 16th century English, assumed a new function, that of refining, polishing and improving the literary language. This was, of course, one of the trends leading to the final establishment of the norms of literary English. The tendency to refine the

language, to give it the grace and gallantry of the nobility of the period, is manifested in the writings of language theoreticians and critics of the time. Illustrative of this is the "Essay on Dramatic Poesy" by John Dry den, where we find the following: "I have always acknowledged the wit of our predecessors... but I am sure their wit was not that of gentlemen; there was ever somewhat that was ill bred and clownish in it and which confessed the conversation of the authors.... In the age wherein these poets lived, there was less of gallantry than in ours; neither did they keep the best company of theirs (their age).... The discourse and raillery of our comedies excel what has been written by them." One of the many manifestations of the process of regulation and refinement can be seen in the successive editions of Shakespeare's works in 1623, 1632, 1664, 1685, in which the language of the great playwright was subjected to considerable change in order to make it conform to the norms established by his successors. There were not only morphological and syntactical changes, but even changes in Shakespeare's vocabulary. Words that were considered 'ill bred and clownish' were sometimes changed, but more often they were omitted altogether. In 1664 a special committee was set up to normalize and improve the English language. But the Committee did not last long and had little influence in deciding upon the norms of usage. A considerable role in the regulation of the norms was played by a number of new grammars, which appeared at this period. Among these the "Grammatica Linguae Anglicanae" written in Latin by John Wallis and published in 1653 is particularly notable. It was a kind of protest against the blind imitation of Latin grammars, although the author could not free himself entirely from the influence of the Latin grammatical system and the Latin theory of language. The tendency of refining and polishing the English literary language by modeling it on the classic Greek and Latin masterpieces was counteracted, however, by another strong movement, that of restricting literary English to a simple colloquial language which would easily be understood by the ordinary people. The Protestant Reformation also played its role in safeguarding the English literary language for the people. So, on the one hand, there was the rhetoric which was "...a potent force in shaping the English language in the period following the Renaissance" and which undoubtedly paved the way for the norms of the Standard English of the 17th century. On the other hand, there was the authorized version of the English Bible first published in 1611, which "...has served to keep alive English words and to fix their meanings, and it has provided language material and pattern in word, in phrase, in rhythm... to

English writers and speakers of all subsequent times." According to Frank A. Visetelly, the Bible contains 97 per cent of Anglo-Saxon words, more than any other English book. Early in the seventeenth century English dictionaries began to appear as practical guides to the use of new words, terms belonging to science and art and also "ink-horn" terms, which had poured into the English language in the 16th century and continued to flow in the seventeenth. As in every century, there was a struggle between the purists, the "keepers" of the already established norms of the language, who mainly orientate towards the literary and somewhat obsolescent forms of language, and the admirers of novelty who regard everything new that appears on the surface of the language as representing its natural development and therefore as something that should be readily accepted into the system without its being subjected to the test of time. Such a struggle is the natural clash of tendencies, which leads to changes in the literary language of each linguistic period. But there is nevertheless a general tendency in each period, which will undoubtedly be reflected in the literary language. The normalizing tendency so apparent in the seventeenth century continues into the eighteenth. But by the eighteenth century it had become a conscious goal. The aim of the language scholars who sought to lay down the law in the eighteenth century may be expressed as the desire to fix the language for all time, to establish its laws once and for all. Order and regularity were the qualities they esteemed. Their need for standardization and regulation was summed up in their word "ascertainment" of the language. J. H.McKnight, a student of the history of modern Standard English, whom we have already cited, describes the general tendency of the development of the literary English of the eighteenth century in the following words: "The little-controlled English language of the time of Sidney and Shakespeare, the elegant freedom of expression of the Restoration period, was to be subjected to authority. Both learning represented by Johnson and fashionable breeding represented by Chesterfield came together in a common form of language reduced to regularity and uniformity." But the actual history of the development of Standard English cannot be reduced to the interaction of learning and fashionable breeding. The development of the literary language is marked by the process of selection. The real creator of the literary form of the language remains the people, the actual law giver of the norms. Scientists and men-of-letters only fix what has already been established by general usage. New norms of usage cannot be imposed.

But to historians of language the opinions of writers and scholars of a given period as well as those of ordinary people are of great value. They help to trace the fluctuating trends leading to the establishment of the norms of the period and influence to some extent the progress of literary English. In the eighteenth century two men had a great influence on the development of the norms of literary English. These were Jonathan Swift and Samuel Johnson. In an attempt to regularize the use of English, Swift condemned both "vulgar slanginess" and "intolerable preciosity". According to Swift the "vulgar slanginess" came from a certain school of young men from the universities, "terribly possessed with fear of pedantry", who from his description wished to be what we should call 'up to date'". "'They... come up to town, reckon all their errors for accomplishments, borrow the newest set of phrases and if take a pen into their hands, all the odd words they have picked up in a coffee-house, or at a gaming ordinary are produced as flowers of style.' "Such a 'strange race of wits' with their 'quaint fopperies' of manner and speech, exist in every age. Their mannerisms rarely pass beyond their immediate clique, and have no more permanence than foam on the river." The 'intolerable preciosity' as Swift understands it was the tendency to use embellishments to the detriment of clarity and exactness. It was Swift who declared the necessity "to call a spade a spade", a phrase, which has become a symbol for a plain and simple way of expression. Samuel Johnson's attitude toward language is best expressed in his Grammar: "For pronunciation, the best rule is to consider those as the most elegant speakers who deviate least from the written words." Faithful to this doctrine Johnson in trying to "ascertain" the English language was mainly concerned with the usage of great English writers. In his famous dictionary, first published in 1753, the influence of which on subsequent dictionaries of the English language can hardly be overestimated, Johnson made his selection only from words found in literary publications, ignoring the words and collocations used in oral intercourse, in the lively colloquial English of his day. The definitions given by Johnson reflect only the usage of the great writers of his own and of preceding centuries. The literarybookish character of Johnson's dictionary has greatly influenced the word usage of written English and also the formation of different styles in literary English. Eighteenth-century concepts in the fields of philosophy and natural sciences had considerable influence on contemporary theoretical linguistic thought. Even the titles of certain grammars of the period reflected the general tendency to lay

down categorical laws. Thus, for example, the title: "Reflections on the Nature and Property of Language in General, on the Advantages, Defects, and Manner of Improving the English Tongue in Particular" by Thomas Stackhouse (1731) clearly shows the aims of the writer, aims which were common to most of the 18th century works on language, i. e. improving the language and fixing its laws for the use of the people. This general trend of language theory is also expressed by Samuel Johnson in the preface to his dictionary. "Language", he writes, "is only the instrument of science, and the words are but the signs of ideas. I wish, however, that the instrument might be less apt to decay, and that the signs might be permanent, like the things which they denote." However, adherence to the theoretical trends of the century was not universal. There were some scholars who protested against arbitrarily imposing laws and restrictions on the language. Thus, for example, John Fell in his "Essay towards an English Grammar" published in 1784 declares: "It is certainly the business of a grammarian to find out, and not to make, the laws of language." In this work the author does not assume the character of a legislator, but appears as a faithful compiler of the scattered laws. "... It matters not what causes these customs and fashions owe their birth to. The moment they become general they are laws of the language; and a grammarian can only remonstrate how much so ever he disapprove." The eighteenth century literary trend was also influenced to a considerable degree by the rhetoric, which since the Renaissance had played a noticeable role in all matters of language. But the majority of language scholars were concerned with the use of words, inasmuch as the lexical units and their functioning are more observable and discernible in the slow progress of-language development. The well-known article by Jonathan Swift "A Proposal for the Correcting, Improving, and Ascertaining the English Tongue" in its very title sums up the general attitude of scholars towards the English of their century. The main issues of this document, remarkable in many ways, centre around the use of words and set expressions. Meanwhile, however, colloquial English, following its natural path of progress and living its own life, although it was subjected to some extent to the general tendencies laid down by the men-of-letters, exhibited a kind of independence in the use of words, expressions, syntax, and pronunciation. The gap between the literary and colloquial English of the 18th century was widening. The restrictions forced on the written language are felt in the speech of

the characters in the novels and plays of this period. Their speech is under the heavy influence of literary English and therefore it is erroneous to understand it as representing the norms of 18th century spoken English. The nineteenth century trends in literary English are best summarized in the following statement by McKnight: "The spirit of purism was evidently alive in the early nineteenth century. The sense of a classical perfection to be striven for survived from the eighteenth century. The language must not only be made more regular, but it must be protected from the corrupting influences that were felt to be on all sides. Vulgarisms were to be avoided and new words, if they were to be tolerated, must conform not only to analogy but to good taste." This puristic spirit is revealed mainly in the attitude towards vocabulary and pronunciation. Syntactical and morphological changes are not so apparent as lexical and phonetic ones and therefore are less exposed to the criticism of the purists. Many new words that were coming into use as, for example, reliable, environment, lengthy were objected to on the principle that they were unnecessary innovations replacing, e. g., trustworthy, scenery or circumstances and long. It is interesting to remark in passing that language theories of the 16th to the 18th centuries were in general more concerned with what we would now call macro-linguistics in contrast to the present time when the process of atomization of language facts not infrequently overshadows observations concerning the nature and properties of units of communication. The tendency to protest against innovation, however, gradually gave way to new trends, those of the 19th century, which can be defined as the beginning of the recognition of colloquial English as a variety of the national language. Colloquial words and expressions created by the people began to pour into literary English. The literary critics and men-of-letters objected to the maxims laid down by their predecessors and began to lay the foundation for new theoretical concepts of the literary language. Thus De Quincey in his essay on rhetoric declares: "...since Dr. Johnson's time the freshness of the idiomatic style has been too frequently abandoned for the lifeless mechanism of a style purely bookish and mechanical." "The restriction of the English vocabulary which was promoted by the classicizing tendencies of the eighteenth century," writes McKnight, "was appreciably loosened by the spirit which produced the Romantic movement." However, the purists never ceased to struggle against new coinages and there were special lists of proscribed words and expressions. The constant struggle of those who endeavour to safeguard the purity of their language against new

creations or borrowings, which alone can supply the general need for means to render new ideas, seems to represent a natural process in language development. It is this struggle that makes the literary language move forward and forces the recognition of new forms, words and syntactical patterns. The works of Byron, Thackeray, Dickens and other classic writers of the 19th century show how many words from the colloquial language of that period have been adopted into standard literary English. Another feature of the 19th century literary English to be noted is a more or less firmly established differentiation of styles, though this process was not fully appreciated by the scholars of the period. The dichotomy of written and oral intercourse which manifested itself mainly in the widening of the gap between the literary and non-literary forms, so typical of the 18th century English, led the way to a cluster of varieties within the literary language, viz. to its stratification into different styles. A particularly conspicuous instance of this stratification was the singling out of poetic diction and the establishment of a set of rules by which the language of poetry was governed. Strict laws concerning word usage and imagery in poetry had long been recognized as a specific feature of the style of poetry. The norms of 19th century literary English were considerably influenced by certain other styles, which by this period had already shaped themselves as separate styles. By this period the shaping of the newspaper style, the publicistic style, the style of scientific prose and the official style may be said to have been completed and language scholars found themselves faced with new problems. It became necessary to seek the foundation and distinctive characteristics of each individual style and analyse them. The shaping of the belles-lettres prose style called forth a new system of expressive means and stylistic devices. There appeared a stylistic devicerepresented speech, which quickly developed into one of the most popular means by which the thought and feeling of a character in a novel can be shown, the speech of the character combining with the exposition of the author to give a fuller picture. The favourite stylistic devices of the prose style of the 18th century, rhetorical questions, climax, anaphora, antithesis and some others gave way to more lively stylistic devices as breaking off the narrative, detached constructions and other devices so typical of the norms of lively colloquial speech. Stylistic devices regarded with suspicion and disapproval in the 18th century were beginning to gain popularity. The realistic tendencies and trends in English literature during this period made it necessary to introduce non-literary forms of English when depicting

characters from the so-called lower classes through the idiosyncracies of their speech. In this connection another feature must be mentioned when characterizing the ways and means by which literary English of the 19th century progressed. This was a more liberal admission of dialectal words and words from the Scottish dialect in particular. To a considerable extent this must be attributed to Robert Burns, whose poems were widely read and admired and who, as is known, wrote in the Scottish (Scots) dialect. The novels of Walter Scott also aided the process. In summing up the main features of the struggle to establish norms for 19th century literary English, special mention must be made of the two tendencies characteristic of this period. One was reactionary purism, the principles of which were laid down in the 17th and 18th centuries and which became manifest in the struggle against any innovation no matter where it came from. The purist was equally against words borrowed from other languages, the coinage of new words and also semantic changes in the native stock of words. This reactionary purism orientated the literary language towards a revival of old words, which had gone out of use and of constructions typical of earlier stages in the history of English. The other tendency was to draw on the inexhaustible resources of the vernacular both in vocabulary and in the lively syntactical patterns of colloquial English so suggestive of the warm intonation of the human voice. This tendency was particularly observable in the belles-lettres style, and Byron, Thackeray and Dickens contributed greatly to the enrichment of the literary language. The end of the century led practically to no change in the general direction of the two tendencies. But there is undoubted evidence that the second of the two above-mentioned tendencies has taken the upper hand. Reactionary purism is dying down and giving way to strong modernizing tendencies, which flourish particularly in the newspaper style and the belles-lettres style. The recognition in the 20th century of the everyday speech of the people as a variety of the national language has done much to legalize the colloquial form of English which, until the present century had been barred from the domain of language studies. We must point out that the functional styles of language have shaped themselves within the literary form of the English language. The division of the Standard English language into two varieties written and spoken (the literary language and the colloquial language), which was recognized earlier and which was acknowledged as a natural coexistence, now goes alongside the problem of the "closed" systems of styles of language. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971,pp.34-47).

VARIETIES OF LANGUAGE The functioning of the literary language in various spheres of human activity and with different aims of communication has resulted in its differentiation. This differentiation is predetermined by two distinct factors, namely, the actual situation in which the language is being used and the aim of the communication. The actual situation of the communication has evolved two varieties of language: the spoken and the written. The varying aims of the communication have caused the literary language to fall into a number of self-sufficient systems or styles of language. Of the two varieties of language diachronically the spoken is primary and the written is secondary. Each of these varieties has developed its own features and qualities, which in many ways may be regarded as opposed to each other. The situation in which the spoken variety of language is used and in which it develops, can be described concisely as the presence of an interlocutor. The written variety, on the contrary, presupposes the absence of an interlocutor. The spoken language is maintained in the form of a dialogue - the written in the form of a monologue. The spoken language has a considerable advantage over the written, in that the human voice comes into play. This is a powerful means of modulating the utterance, as are all kinds of gestures, which together with the intonation, give additional information. Indeed, the rise and fall of the voice, whether the utterance is shouted, whispered, drawled or expressed in some other tone of voice all have an effect on the melody of the utterance and consequently on its general meaning. The written language has to seek means to compensate for what it lacks. Therefore, the written utterance will inevitably be more diffuse, more explanatory. In other words, it has to produce an enlarged representation of the communication in order to be explicit enough. The forms of the written language replace those of the spoken language when the dissemination of ideas is the purpose in view. It is the written variety of language with its careful organization and deliberate choice of words and constructions that can have political, cultural and educational influence on a wide and scattered public. In the long process of its functioning, the written language has acquired its own characteristic features emanating from the need to amplify the utterance, which is an essential point in the written language. The gap between the spoken and written varieties of language, wider or narrower at different periods in the development of the literary language, will always remain apparent due to the difference in circumstances in which the two are

used. Here is an example showing the difference. "Marvellous beast, a fox. Great places for wild life, these wooded chines; so steep you can't disturb them - pigeons, jays, woodpeckers, rabbits, foxes, hares, pheasants - every mortal thing." Its written counterpart would run as follows: 'What a marvellous beast a fox is! These wooded chines are splendid places for wild life. They are so steep that one can't disturb anything. Therefore one can see every imaginable creature here - pigeons, jays, woodpeckers, rabbits, foxes, hares and pheasants.' "The use of the peculiarities of the spoken variety in the written language, or vice versa, the peculiarities of the written language in lively speech, will always produce a ludicrous effect It must be born in mind that in the belles-lettres style there may appear elements of colloquial language (a form of the spoken variety), but it will always be stylized to a greater or lesser degree by the writer. The term belles-lettres itself suggests the use of the written language. The spoken language by its very nature is spontaneous, momentary, fleeting. It vanishes after having fulfilled its purpose, which is to communicate a thought, no matter whether it is trivial or really important. The idea remains, the language dissolves in it. The written language, on the contrary, lives together with the idea it expresses. An interesting observation on the difference between the spoken and written varieties of language is made by Prof. Archibald A. Hill in his "An Analysis of 'The Windhover.' "Ordinary speech is ephemeral, meant to be reacted to and forgotten, ...chains in speech, therefore, work mostly forward and over a fairly short span. In literature they can also work backward and there can be more than one chain running at a time, so that a given item can have one meaning in one span, a different one in a second." The spoken language cannot be detached from the user of it, the speaker, who is unable to view it from the outside. The written language on the contrary, can be detached from the writer, enabling him to look upon his utterance objectively and giving him the opportunity to correct and improve what has been put on paper. That is why it is said that the written language bears a greater volume of responsibility than its spoken counterpart. The peculiarities of both varieties can roughly be described as follows: the spoken variety differs from the written language phonetically (that is, in its written representation), morphologically, lexically and syntactically. Thus, of morphological forms the spoken language

commonly uses contracted forms as he'd, she's ('she has', 'she Is') and the like, e. g. "I'd've killed him" (Salinger). Other peculiarities of the spoken language are the use of 'don't' instead of 'doesn't', as in "It's a wonder his father don't take him in his bank" (Dreiser); 'he' instead of 'him', as in "I used to play tennis with he and Mrs. Antolini" (Salinger); 'I says', 'ain't' instead of 'am not', 'is not', 'are not', 'them' instead of 'these', or 'those', as in "Them's some of your chaps, ain't they?" (Tressell); Leggo= 'let go', hellova = 'hell of a' and others. These morphological and phonetic peculiarities are sometimes regarded as violations of grammar rules caused by a certain carelessness, which accompanies the quick tempo of colloquial speech or an excited state of mind. Others are typical of territorial or social dialects. The following passage is illustrative in this respect: "Mum, I've asked a young lady to come to tea tomorrow. Is that all right?" "You done what?" asked Mrs. Sunbury, for a moment forgetting her grammar. "You heard, mum." (Somerset Maugham) Some of these improprieties are now recognized as being legitimate forms of colloquial English. Thus, Prof. M. Whitehall of Indiana University now admits that "Colloquial spoken English often uses them as the plural form of this and that, written English uses these and those. 'Them men have arrived'. The most striking difference between the spoken and written language is, however in the vocabulary used. There are words and phrases typically colloquial on the one hand and typically bookish on the other. This problem will be dealt with in detail in the next chapter. Such words and phrases as sloppy, to be gone on somebody ('to be violently in love with'); I take it ('I understand') a sort of; to hob-nob with ('be very familiar with') and others immediately mark the utterance as being colloquial, that is, belonging to the spoken variety of language. They are rarely found in the author's narrative unless special stylistic aims are pursued. When set against ordinary neutral words or literary-bookish words and expressions, they produce a marked stylistic effect. Here is an example: "He says you were struck off the rolls for something." "'Removed from the Register is the correct expression,' placidly interrupted the doctor." (Maugham). Here are some more examples of present day colloquial phrases which are gaining ground in Standard English but which are strongly felt to be colloquial: How come? (=why? How does that happen?) What time do you make it?, so much the better, to be up to something. The spoken language makes ample use of intensifying words. These are interjections and words with strong emotive meaning, as oaths, swear words and adjectives, which have

lost their primary meaning and only serve the purpose of intensifying the emotional charge of the utterance. Here are some examples: "I'd sure like to hear some more about them people." (Don Gordon) "In fact, you ought to be darn glad you went to Burtingame." (L. Ford) "He put my goddam paper down..." (Salinger) The words 'here' and 'there' are also used to reinforce the demonstrative pronouns, as in: "If I can get a talk with this here servant..." said Weller. "That there food is good." "Is this 'ere (here) hall (all) you've done?" he shouts out. There is another characteristic feature of colloquial language which is half linguistic, half psychological, that is the insertion into the utterance of words without any meaning, which are appropriately called fill ups of empty words. To some extent they give a touch of completeness "to the sentence if used at the end of it or, if used in the middle, help the speaker to fill the gap when unable to find the proper word. Illustrative in this respect is Holden's manner of speech in Salinger's novel "The Catcher in the Rye." Here are some examples: "She looked so damn nice, the way she kept going around and around in her blue coat and all." "...splendid and clear-thinking and all." "...he is my brother and all." Such words and set expressions as well, so to say, you see, you know, you understand, and all, as well as what may be called "mumbling words" like -m-m, er-r, also belong to the category of fill-ups. The syntactical peculiarities of the spoken language are perhaps not so striking as the lexical ones, but more than any other features, they reveal the true nature of the spoken variety of language, that is the situational character of the communication. The first of them is what is erroneously called ellipsis, that is, the omission of parts of the utterance easily supplied by the situation in which the communication takes place. These are in fact not omissions, but the regular absence of parts unnecessary in lively conversation when there are two or more people speaking. Here are some absolutely normal and legitimate constructions, which have missing elements in the spoken language, elements, which are indispensable in the written language, however. 'Who you with? (Who are you with?)' 'Care to hear my ideas about it?' 'Ever go back to England?' 'Just doing a short story to kill the time'. The second feature is the tendency to use the direct word order in questions or omit the auxiliary verb, for example: "Scrooge knew Marley was dead?" (Dickens) "Miss Holland look after you and all that?" Unfinished sentences are also typical of the spoken language, for example, 'If you behave like that I'll...'

There is a syntactical structure with a tautological subject, which is also considered characteristic of colloquial English. It is a construction in which two subjects are used where one is sufficient reference. Usually they are noun and pronoun, as in: 'He was a kind boy, Harry.' 'Helen, she was there. Ask her.' In the spoken language it is very natural to have a string of sentences without any connections or linked with and, that servant of all work, for example: 'Came home late. Had supper and went to bed. Couldn't sleep, of course. The evening had been too much of a strain.' It has already been pointed out that the spoken variety of language is far more emotional than its counterpart, due mainly to the advantage the human voice supplies. This emotiveness of colloquial language has produced a number of syntactical structures which so far have been little investigated and the meaning of which can hardly be discerned without a proper intonation design. Here are some of them: "Isn't she cute!" "Don't you tell me that." "A witch she is!" "And didn't she come over on the same boat as myself!" "He fair beats me, does James!" "Clever girl that she is!" "You are telling me!" "There you have the man!" "Somebody is going to touch you with a broomstick!" The characteristic syntactical features of the written variety of language can easily be perceived by the student of language" As the situation must be made clear by the context, the utterance becomes more exact. That means the relations between the parts of the utterance must be precise. Hence the abundance of all kinds of conjunctions, adverbial phrases and other means which may serve as connectives. As someone has said, a clear writer is always conscious of a reader over his shoulder. He must explain. Most of the connecting words were evolved in the written language and for the most part are used only there. Such connectives as moreover, furthermore, likewise, similarly, nevertheless, on the contrary, however, presently, eventually, therefore, in connection with, hereinafter, henceforth, have a decidedly bookish flavour and are seldom used in ordinary conversation. Another syntactical feature of the written language is its use of complicated sentence-units. The written language prefers hypotaxis to parataxis; long periods are more frequent than short utterances. The monologue character of the written language forcibly demands logical coherence of the ideas expressed and the breaking of the utterance into observable spans; hence units like the syntactical whole, and the paragraph. The words and word combinations of the written language have also gained recognition as a separate layer of the English vocabulary. Richard D. Altick, Prof.

of English at the Ohio State University, calls many phrases that tend to be bookish "space-wasters". These are despite the fact (='although'); in the matter of (= 'about'); a long period of time (= 'a long time'); in the capacity of (= 'as'); resembling in nature (='like'); reach a decision (== 'decide'); met with the approval of Jones (='Jones approved'); announced himself to be in favour of (= 'said he favoured') and others. However, these "space-wasters" cannot always be so easily dispensed with, and Prof. Altick seems not to take into consideration the subtle difference in meaning carried by such pairs as in the capacity of and as, resembling in nature and like. Of course there are the "high-talkers" who frequently over-indulge in bookishness of expression, thus causing a natural protest on the part of ordinary readers. J. D. Adams, an American linguist and critic, gives an example of such overbookishness from an Academy of Science report: "The evolution of an optimum scientific payload will require a continuing dialogue among all potential investigators and the engineers responsible for implementing their scientific goals." Then he gives what he calls a "possible translation": "Finding the right cargo will require continuing conferences of those working on the project." It is worthy of note that most of the ridicule poured on the bookish language used by different writers is concentrated on the vocabulary. Little or no mockery is made of the syntactical pattern even though in the long run it is this feature that has as great a weight as any of the others distinguishing the written from the spoken language. The syntactical structure, no matter how complicated it may be, reflects the essential difference between the two varieties of language, and is accepted without question. Any syntactical pattern of the written variety will always show the interrelation between the parts of the utterance, so there is nothing to hinder the reader in grasping the whole. This is the case with prose writing. With regard to poetry, the situation is somewhat different. Recent observations on the peculiarities of the language of modern English and American poetry have proved that it is mainly the breach of syntactical laws, that hinders understanding to a degree that the message becomes undecodable. Coherence and logical unity backed up by purely linguistic means is therefore an essential property of the written variety of language. The bookish vocabulary, one of the notable properties of the written language may, on the contrary, go beyond the grasping powers of even the most intelligent reader and may very frequently need interpretation. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971,pp.48-54).

TYPES OF LEXICAL MEANING A number of stylistic devices are based on the peculiar use of lexical meanings. Therefore it seems to be necessary to define with precision the types of meanings words may have which we meet in stylistic devices. Words can be approached from multifarious aspects, some of which go beyond the boundaries of pure linguistics, though they are deeply rooted in the texture of the language. The most common and acceptable definition of a word is the following. A word is a language sign that expresses a concept by its forms and meanings. By concept is meant an abstract or general idea of some phenomenon of objective reality including the subjective feelings and emotions of human beings. The forms of a word show its relation to the other words in a sentence. The meaning of a word is the means by which the concept is materialized. The meaning will always direct the mind to the object or objects we think of. The forms of a word will direct the mind to the correlation between the words in a sentence. The forms of a word are also said to have meanings. Therefore we distinguish between lexical meaning and grammatical meaning, the former referring to the phenomena of objective reality and the latter to the correlation between the words in a sentence. Both lexical and grammatical meaning may be polysemantic. This means that a word may have a number of meanings. So here we' meet the first contradiction in terms. On the one hand a word expresses a concept by its meanings. On the other hand each meaning may denote a separate concept. The contradiction is to some extent removed by introducing the notion of progress in language. The meanings are liable to change. When there is an obvious connection between different meanings, we call them shades of meaning, nuances of meaning and even separate meaning, the latter being on the verge of becoming separate words. When the process of breaking away from the basic meaning has gone so far that we scarcely feel any connection between the meanings, we say that the word has split into two different words, which in this case become homonyms. The meanings of a word are the only means of materializing a concept in language, though some concepts may be materialized not by means of the signs of language but by other signs - by gestures, mimicry, music, painting, sculpture and the other fine arts. It is of paramount importance in stylistics to bear in mind that concepts of objective reality have different degrees of abstractness. This is adequately manifested in language. Adjectives are more abstract in meaning than nouns. Adverbs may be considered more abstract than adjectives inasmuch as they usually

characterize an abstract notion, action or state. Conjunctions and prepositions have a still higher degree of abstractness because it is not objects as such that they indicate, but the correlation of the concepts involved. Therefore, we may consider conjunctions and prepositions, and some auxiliary words as well, to be on the borderline between lexical and grammatical categories, or in terms of meaning, having a grammatical meaning, which suppresses the lexical meaning. Within the grammatical classes of words, there are also different degrees of abstractness. Nouns, as is known, are divided into two large classes, abstract and concrete. But this division does not correspond to the actual difference in the degree of abstractness. This will be explained later when we come to illustrate abstractness and concreteness. A word, as is known, generalizes. Consequently, a word will always denote a concept, no matter whether it names a definite object or embraces all the objects of a given kind. The problem of abstractness, and especially the degree of abstractness, is of vital importance in stylistics in more than one respect. Stylistics deals not only with the aesthetic and emotional impact of the language. It also studies the means of producing impressions in our mind. Impression is the first and rudimentary stage of concept. But the concept through a reverse process may build another kind of impression. Impressions that are secondary to concepts, in other words, which have been born by concepts, are called imagery. Imagery is mainly produced by the interplay of different meanings. Concrete objects are easily perceived by the senses. Abstract notions are perceived by the mind. When an abstract notion is by the force of the mind represented through a concrete object, an image is the result. Imagery may be built on the interrelation of two abstract notions or two concrete objects or an abstract and a concrete one. Three types of meaning can be distinguished, which we shall call logical, emotive and nominal respectively. Logical meaning is the precise naming of a feature of the idea, phenomenon or object, the name by which we recognize the whole of the concept. This meaning is also synonymously called referential meaning or direct meaning. We shall use the terms logical and referential as being most adequate for our purpose. Referential meanings are liable to change. As a result the referential meanings of one word may denote different concepts. It is therefore necessary to distinguish between primary and secondary referential, or logical, meaning.

Thus the adverb inwardly has the primary logical meaning of internally or within. Its secondary logical meanings are: towards the centre, mentally, secretly, which are to some extent derived from the primary meaning. Some dictionaries give a very extended list of primary and secondary logical meanings and it is essential for stylistic purposes to distinguish them, as some stylistic devices are built on the interplay of primary and secondary logical meanings. All the meanings fixed by authoritative English and American dictionaries comprise what is called the semantic structure of the word. The meanings that are to be found in speech or writing and which are accidental should not be regarded as components of the semantic structure of the word. They may be transitory, inasmuch as they depend on the context. They are generally called contextual meanings. Let us compare the meanings of the word presence in the following two sentences. "The governor said that he would not allow the presence of federal troops on the soil of his State." "...the General has been faced with a problem as old as France's presence in Algeria, the stubborn resistance of officers and officials..." In the first sentence the word 'presence' merely means '...the state of being present', whereas in the second sentence the meaning of the word expands into '...occupation', i. e. the seizure and control of an area, especially foreign territory, by military forces. The first meaning is the dictionary meaning of the word. The second meaning is a contextual one. It lives only in the given text and disappears if the context is altered. However, there are definite reasons to assume that a number of derivative meanings are given place in dictionaries on the basis of contextual meanings. When the two meanings clearly co-exist in the utterance, we say there is an interaction of dictionary and contextual meanings. When only one meaning is perceived by the reader, we are sure to find this meaning in dictionaries as a derivative one. Sometimes it is difficult to decide whether there is a simultaneous materialization of two dictionary logical meanings or an interplay of a dictionary and a contextual meaning. The difficulty is caused, on the one hand, by insufficient objective criteria of what should be fixed in dictionaries as already established language facts, and on the other hand, by deliberate political, "aesthetic, moral and other considerations on the part of the compilers of the dictionaries. Thus in Byron's use of the word 'arise' in the line "Awake ye sons of Spain, awake, arise!" the word 'arise' has the long-established meaning of 'revolt'. It is not contextual any longer. But no English or American dictionary fixes this particular meaning in the semantic structure of the word 'arise' and it is left to the ability of

the attentive reader to supply the obvious meaning to the word. The same can be said about the word 'appeasement'. There is an implicit difference in the treatment of the semantic structure of this word in British and American dictionaries. In no British dictionary will you find the new derivative meaning, viz. 'a sacrifice of moral principle in order to avert aggression'. Some modern American dictionaries include this meaning in the semantic structure of the word 'appeasement'. The reason for the difference is apparent - the British Prime minister Chamberlain in 1938 played an ignoble role in Munich, sacrificing Chekoslovakia to Hitler's greed. The new meaning that was attached to the word (in connection with this historical event) cannot now be removed from its semantic structure. A dictionary meaning is materialized in the context; a contextual meaning is born in the context. However, dictionaries, though the only reliable sources of information regarding the meanings of a given word, apply very diverse and even contradictory principles in ascertaining the general acceptability and recognition of some of the shades of meaning which are in process of being shaped as independent meanings. Thus, to excuse oneself in the meaning of 'to leave', as in 'Soames excused himself directly after dinner' (Galsworthy); or the meaning of a thought = 'a little' as in 'A thought more fashionably than usual' (Galsworthy) are fixed as separate meanings in some modern British and American dictionaries, but are neglected in others. Every word possesses an enormous potentiality for generating new meanings. This power is often underestimated by scholars who regard a word as a unit complete in itself and acknowledge a new-born meaning only when it has firmly asserted itself in language and become accepted by the majority of the language community. But not to see the latent possibilities of a word is not to understand the true nature of this unit of language. The potentiality of words can also be noted in regard to emotive meaning. Emotive meaning also materializes a concept in the word, but unlike logical meaning, emotive meaning has reference not directly to things or phenomena of objective reality, but to the feelings and emotions of the speaker towards these things or to his emotions as such. Therefore the emotive meaning bears reference to things, phenomena or ideas through a kind of evaluation of them. For example: I feel so darned lonely. (Graham Green, "The Quiet American".) He classified him as a man of monstrous selfishness; he did not want to see that knife descend, but he felt it for one great fleeting instant. (London) The italicized words have no logical meaning, only emotive meaning. Their function is to reveal the subjective, evaluating attitude of the writer to the things or

events spoken of. Men-of-letters themselves are well aware that words may reveal a subjective evaluation and sometimes use it for definite stylistic effects, thus calling the attention of the reader to the meaning of such words. Thus, for example, in the following passage from "The Man of Property" by Galsworthy: "She was not a flirt, not even a coquette - words dear to the heart of his generation, which loved to define things by a good, broad, inadequate word - but she was dangerous." Here the words 'flirt' and 'coquette' retain some of their logical meaning. They mean a person (particularly a girl) who endeavours to attract the opposite sex, who toys with her admirers. But both words have acquired an additional significance, viz. a derogatory shade of meaning. This shade may grow into an independent meaning and in this case will be fixed in dictionaries as having a special emotive meaning, as, for example, have the words fabulous, terrifying, stunning, spectacular, swell, fop, smart, cute, massive and the like. Many words acquire an emotive meaning only in a definite context. In that case we say that the word has a contextual emotive meaning. Stephen Ullmann holds that "Only the context can show whether a word should be taken as a purely objective expression, or whether it is primarily designed to convey and arouse emotions. This is obvious in the case of words like liberty, and justice, which are frequently charged with emotional implications. But even colourless everyday terms may, in freak contexts, acquire unexpected emotional overtones, as for instance 'wall' in this passage from a Midsummer Night's Dream: 'And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, ...Thanks, courteous wall... O wicked wall."' Ullmann's point of view is only partly true. There are, of course, words, which as we have pointed out may acquire emotive meaning in a context. Ordinarily though, and particularly when taken as isolated lexical units, they can hardly be said to possess emotive meaning. But Ullmann's opinion that only the context can inject emotional meaning into words, contradicts the facts. In the vocabulary of almost any European language there are words, which are undoubtedly bearers of emotive meaning. These are interjections, oaths or swear words, exclamatory words (variants of interjections) and a great number of qualitative or intensifying adjectives some of which have already been mentioned. The emotive meaning of some of these classes of words is so strong that it suppresses the co-existing logical meaning, as for example in stunning and smart. It is significant that these words are explained in dictionaries by means of synonymous words charged with strong emotional implications, i. e. words that direct the mind not to objective things, ideas or phenomena but to the feelings.

Thus the word smart is explained in "The Penguin English Dictionary" thus: "stinging, pungent, keen; vigorous, brisk; clever, intelligent; impertinent; shrewd; witty; spruce, neat, gay, fashionable!" Other classes of words with emotive meaning have entirely lost their logical meaning and function in the language as interjections. Such words as alas, oh, ah, pooh, darn, gosh and the like have practically no logical meaning at all; words like the devil, Christ, God, goodness gracious, etc., are frequently used only in their emotive meaning. The "same can be said about the words bloody, damn and other expletives. Contrary to Stephen Ullmann, we think that emotional meaning is inherent in a definite group of words and adherent to many words denoting emotions and feelings even when taken out of the context. Ullmann's example of the word wall as bearing strong emotional meaning does not stand scrutiny. He overlooks the real bearers of emotional meaning, viz. the words preceding or following it: O, sweet, lovely (these three words are repeated several times), courteous, wicked. It goes without saying that these words strongly colour the word wall, hut no emotional meaning as a counterpart of logical meaning can be observed here. Emotive meaning of words plays an important role in stylistics. Therefore it should never be underrated. A very keen eye or ear will always distinguish elements of emotive meaning. Emotional colouring may be regarded as a rudimentary stage of emotive meaning, which is generally fixed as an independent meaning in good dictionaries. Anything recognizable as having a strong impact on our senses may be considered as having emotive meaning, either dictionary or contextual. And, finally, we come to nominal meaning. There are words, which, while expressing concepts, indicate a particular object out of a class. In other words these units of the language serve the purpose of singling out one definite and singular object out of a whole class of similar objects. These words are classified in grammars as proper nouns. The nature of these words can be understood if we have a clear idea of the difference between the two main aspects of a word: "nomination" and "signification". These aspects are also called "reference" and "signification" or "denotation" and "connotation". The difference can roughly be illustrated by the following example. Let us take the word table. The first thing that appears in our mind is the general notion deprived of any concrete features or properties. This is the signification. But by the word table we may also denote a definite table. In this

case we use a definite article and the meaning becomes nominating. But we may also fix a definite name to the object, which we want to be recognized as a unique object because of its peculiar properties. In this way proper names appear. Their function is not to single out one of the objects of the class for one particular occasion, as in the case with the use of the definite article, but to make it the bearer of the properties, which our mind has attached to it. Thus nominal meaning is a derivative logical meaning. To distinguish nominal meaning from logical meaning the former is designated by a capital letter. Such words as Smith, Longfellow, Everest, Black Sea, Thames, Byron are said to have nominal meaning. The logical meaning, from which they originate, may in the course of time be forgotten and therefore not easily traced back. Most proper names have nominal meanings which may be regarded as homonyms of common nouns with their logical or emotional meanings, as Hope, Browning, Taylor, Scotland, Black, Chandler, Chester (from the Latin word castra - 'camp'). Hence logical meanings, which nominate an object, at the same time, signify the whole class of these objects. Nominal meanings, which nominate an object, are deprived of the latter function because they do not represent a class. It must be remembered however that the nominal meaning will always be secondary to the logical meaning. The process of development of meaning may go still further. A nominal meaning may assume a logical meaning due to certain external circumstances. The result is that a logical meaning takes its origin in a nominal meaning. Some feature of a person which has made him or her noticeable and which is recognized by the community is made the basis for the new logical meaning. Thus dunce - ('a dullard, a stupid person') is derived from the personal name Duns Scotus, a medieval scholastic; hooligan ('a ruffian') is probably derived from the name of a rowdy family, cf. the Irish name Houligan, in a comic song popular about 1885; boycott ('refuse to do business with,' 'combine together against a person by breaking off all relations with him'). The verb boycott was first used in 1880 to describe the action of the Land League towards Captain Boycott, an Irish landlord. The nominal meanings of these words have now faded away and we perceive only one, the logical meaning. But sometimes the process of attaching nominal meaning to a word with a logical meaning takes place, as it were, before our eyes. This is done for purely stylistic purposes and is regarded as a special stylistic device. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971,pp.55-61).

STYLISTIC CLASSIFICATION OF THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS

In order to get a more or less clear idea of the word stock of any language, it must be presented as a system, the elements of which are interconnected, interrelated and yet independent. Some linguists, who clearly see the systematic character of language as a whole, deny, however, the possibility of systematically classifying the vocabulary. They say that the word stock of any language is so large and so heterogeneous that it is impossible to formalize it and therefore present it in any system. The words of a language are thought of as a chaotic body whether viewed from their origin and development or from their present state. Indeed, the coinage of new lexical units, the development of meaning, the differentiation of words according to their stylistic evaluation and their spheres of usage, the correlation between meaning and concept and other problems connected with vocabulary are so multifarious and varied that it is difficult to grasp the systematic character of the word stock of a language, though it co-exists with the systems of other levels - phonetics, morphology and syntax. To deny the systematic character of the word stock of a language amounts to denying the systematic character of language as a whole, words being elements in the general system of language. The word stock of a language may be represented as a definite system in which different aspects of words may be singled out as interdependent. A special branch of linguistic science - lexicology - has done much to classify vocabulary. A glance at the contents of any book on lexicology will suffice to ascertain the outline of the system of the word stock of the given language. For our purpose, i. e. for linguistic stylistics, a special type of classification, viz. stylistic classification is the most important. In accordance with the already-mentioned division of language into literary and colloquial, we may represent the whole of the word stock of the English language as being divided into three main layers: the literary layer, the neutral layer and the colloquial layer. The literary and the colloquial layers contain a number of subgroups each of which has a property it shares with all the subgroups within the layer. This common property, which unites the different groups of words within the layer, may be called its aspect. The aspect of the literary layer is its markedly bookish character. It is this that makes the layer more or less stable. The aspect of the colloquial layer of words is its lively spoken character. It is this that makes it unstable, fleeting. The aspect of the neutral layer is

its universal character. That means it is unrestricted in its use. It can be employed in all styles of language and in all spheres of human activity. It is this that makes the layer the most stable of all. The literary layer of words consists of groups accepted as legitimate members of the English vocabulary. They have no local or dialectal character. The colloquial layer of words as qualified in most English or American dictionaries is not infrequently limited to a definite language community or confined to a special locality where it circulates. The literary vocabulary consists of the following groups of words: 1. common literary; 2. terms and learned words; 3. poetic words; 4. archaic words; 5. barbarisms and foreign words; 6. literary coinages including nonce-words. The colloquial vocabulary falls into the following groups: 1. common colloquial words; 2. slang; 3. jargonisms; 4. professional words; 5. dialectal words; 6. vulgar words; 7. colloquial coinages. The common literary, neutral and common colloquial words are grouped under the term Standard English vocabulary. Other groups in the literary layer are regarded as special literary vocabulary and those in the colloquial layer are regarded as special colloquial (non-literary) vocabulary. The accompanying diagram on p. 63 illustrates this classification graphically. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.62-64). NEUTRAL, COMMON LITERARY AND COMMON COLLOQUIAL VOCABULARY Neutral words,, which form the bulk of the English vocabulary, are used in both literary and colloquial language. Neutral words are the main source of synonymy and polysemy. It is the neutral stock of words, that is so prolific in the production of new meanings. The wealth of the neutral stratum of words is often overlooked. This is due to their inconspicuous character. But their faculty for assuming new meanings and generating new stylistic variants is often quite amazing. This generative power of the neutral words in the English language is multiplied by the very nature of the language itself. It has been estimated that most neutral English words are of monosyllabic character, as, in the process of development from Old English to Modern English, most of the parts of speech lost their distinguishing suffixes. This phenomenon has led to the development of conversion as the most productive means of word building. Word compounding is not so productive as conversion or word derivation, where a new word is formed because of a shift in the part of speech in the first case and by the addition of an

affix in the second. Unlike all other groups, the neutral group of words cannot be considered as having a special stylistic colouring, whereas both literary and colloquial words have a definite stylistic colouring. Common literary words are chiefly used in writing and 'in polished speech. One can always tell a literary word from a colloquial word. The reason for this lies in certain objective features of the literary layer of words. What these objective features are, is difficult to say because as yet no objective criteria have been worked out. But one of them undoubtedly is that literary units stand in opposition to colloquial units. This is especially apparent when pairs of synonyms, literary and colloquial, can be formed which stand in antonymic relation. The following synonyms illustrate the relations that exist between the neutral, literary and colloquial words in the English language. Colloquial: kid; daddy; comfy; chap; get out; go ahead; teenager; flapper; Neutral: child father; comfortable; fellow; go away; continue; boy (girl); young girl; Literary: infant; parent; commodious; associate; retire; proceed; youth (maiden); maiden. It goes without saying, that these synonyms are not only stylistic but ideographic as well, i. e. there is a definite though slight semantic difference between the words. But this is almost always the case with synonyms. There are very few absolute synonyms in English just as there are in any language. The main distinction between synonyms remains stylistic. But stylistic difference may be of various kinds: it may lie in the emotional tension connoted in a word or in the sphere of application or in the degree of the quality denoted. Colloquial words are always more emotionally coloured than literary ones. The neutral stratum of words, as the term itself implies, has no degree of emotiveness, nor have they any distinctions in the sphere of usage. Both literary and colloquial words have their upper and lower ranges. The lower range of literary words approaches the neutral layer and has a markedly obvious tendency to pass into that layer. The same may be said of the upper range of the colloquial layer: it can very easily pass into the neutral layer. The lines of demarcation between common colloquial and neutral on the one hand, and common literary and neutral, on the other, are blurred. It is here that the process of inter-penetration of the stylistic strata becomes most apparent. Still the extremes remain antagonistic and therefore are often used to bring about a collision of manners of speech for special stylistic purposes. The difference in the stylistic aspect of words may colour the whole of an utterance. In this

example from "Fanny's First Play" (Shaw), the difference between the common literary and common colloquial vocabulary is clearly seen. "DORA: Oh, I've let it out. Have I? (contemplating Juggins approvingly as he places a chair for her between the table and the sideboard). But he's the right sort: I can see that (buttonholing him). You won't let it out downstairs, old man, will you? JUGGINS: The family can rely on my absolute discretion." The words in Juggins' answer are on the border line between common literary and neutral, whereas the words and expressions used by Dora are clearly common colloquial, not bordering on neutral. This example from "David Copperfield" (Dickens) illustrates the use of literary English words, which do not border on neutral: "My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, "this is luxurious. This is a way of life which reminds me of a period when I was myself in a state of celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber had not yet been solicited to plight her faith at the Hymeneal altar." "He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, archly. "He cannot answer for others." "My dear," returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, "I have no desire to answer for others. I am too well aware that when, in the inscrutable decrees of Fate, you were reserved for me, it is possible you may have been reserved for one destined, after a protracted struggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniary involvements of a complicated nature. I understand your allusion, my love, I regret it, but I can bear it." "Micawber!" exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. "Have I deserved this! I, who never have deserted you; who never will desert you, Micawber!" "My love," said Mr. Micawber, much affected, "you will forgive, and our old and tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure, forgive the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a recent collision with the Minion of Power-in other words, with a ribald Turncock attached to the waterworks - and will pity, not condemn, its excesses." There is a certain analogy between the interdependence of common literary words and neutral ones, on the one hand, and common colloquial words and neutral ones on the other. Both sets can be viewed as being in invariant - variant relations. The neutral vocabulary may be viewed as the invariant of the Standard English vocabulary. The stock of words forming the neutral stratum should in this case be regarded as an abstraction. The words of this stratum are generally deprived of any concrete associations and refer to the concept more or less directly. Synonyms of neutral words, both colloquial and literary, assume a far greater degree of concreteness. They generally present the same notions not abstractly but as a more or less concrete image, that is, in a form

perceptible by the senses. This perceptibility by the senses causes subjective evaluations of the notion in question, or a mental image of the concept. Sometimes an impact of a definite kind on the reader or hearer is the aim lying behind the choice of a colloquial or a literary word rather than a neutral one. Common colloquial vocabulary is, represented as overlapping into the Standard English vocabulary and is therefore to be considered part of it. It borders both on the neutral vocabulary and on the special colloquial vocabulary, which, as we shall see later, falls out of Standard English altogether. Just as common literary words lack homogeneity so do common colloquial words and set expressions. Some of the lexical items belonging to this stratum are close to the non-standard colloquial groups such as jargonisms, professionalisms, etc. These are on the borderline between the common colloquial vocabulary and the special colloquial or non-standard vocabulary. Other words approach the neutral bulk of the English vocabulary. Thus, the words teenager ('a young girl or young man') and flapper ('a young girl) are colloquial words passing into the neutral vocabulary. They are gradually losing their non-standard character and becoming widely recognized. However they have not lost their colloquial association and therefore still remain in the colloquial stratum of the English vocabulary. So also are the following words and expressions: take (in 'as I take it' = as I understand); to go for ( 'to be attracted by', 'like very much', as in "You think she still goes for the guy?"); guy ('young man'); to be gone on (='to be madly in love with'); pro (= a professional, e.g. a professional boxer, tennis-player, etc.). The spoken language abounds in set expressions which are colloquial in character, e.g. all sorts of things, just a bit, Hew is life treating you?, so-so. What time do you make off, to hob-nob (= to be very friendly with, to drink together), so much the better, to be sick and tired of, to be up to something. The stylistic function of the different strata of the English vocabulary depends not so much on the inner qualities of each of the groups, as on their interaction when they are opposed to one another. However, the qualities themselves are not unaffected by the function of the words, inasmuch as these qualities have been acquired in certain environments. It is interesting to note that anything written assumes a greater degree of significance than what is only spoken. If the spoken takes the place of the written or vice versa, it means that we are faced with a stylistic device. Certain set expressions have been coined within literary English and their use in ordinary speech will inevitably make the utterance sound bookish.

In other words it will become literary. The following are examples of set expressions, which can be considered literary: in accordance with, with regard to, by virtue of, to speak at great length, to lend assistance, to draw a lesson, responsibility rests. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp65-68). SPECIAL LITERARY VOCABULARY a) Terms "All scientists are linguists to some extent. They are responsible for devising a consistent terminology, a skeleton language to talk about their subject matter. Philologists and philosophers of speech are in the peculiar position of having to evolve a special language to talk about language itself." This quotation makes clear one of the essential characteristics of a term, viz. its highly conventional character. A term is generally very easily coined and easily accepted; and new coinages as easily replace out-dated ones. Terms therefore are rather transitory by nature, though they may remain in the language as relics of a former stage in the development of a particular branch of science. "A word is organically one with its meaning; likewise a term is one with a concept. Conceptualization leaves, as it were, language behind, although the words remain as (scientific or philosophical) terms. Linguistically the difference is important in that terms are much more easily substitutable by other terms than are words by other words: it is easier to replace, say, the term phonology by phonemics (provided I make it clear what is meant), than to replace everyday words like table and chair by other words." Terms are generally associated with a definite branch of science and therefore with a series of other terms belonging to that particular branch of science. Terms know no isolation; they always come in clusters, either in a text on the subject to which they belong, or in special dictionaries which, unlike general dictionaries, make a careful selection of terms. Taken all together, these clusters of terms form the nomenclature, or system of names, for the objects of study of any particular branch of science. Terms are characterized by a tendency to be monosemantic and therefore easily call forth the required concept. Terms are mostly and predominantly used in special works dealing with the notions of some branch of science. Therefore, it may be said that they belong to the scientific style. But their use is not confined to this style. They may as well appear in other styles - in newspaper style, in publicistic

style, in the belles-lettres style and practically in all other existing styles. But their function in this case changes. They no longer fulfill their basic function, that of bearing an exact reference to a given notion or concept. The function of terms, if encountered in other styles, is either to indicate the technical peculiarities of the subject dealt with, or to make some reference to the occupation of a character whose language would naturally contain special words and expressions. In this connection it is interesting to analyse the stylistic effect of the medical terminology used by A. J. Cronin in his novel "The Citadel." The frequent use of medical terms in the novel is explained by its subject matter - the life of a physician - and also by the fact that the writer himself is a physician and finds it natural to use medical terminology. The piling up of difficult and special terms hinders the reader's understanding of the text even when the writer strives to explain them. Moreover, such an accumulation of special terminology often suggests that the author is showing off his erudition. Terms must not be over-used. It has been pointed out, that those who are learning use far more complicated terms than those who have already learned. There is an interesting process going on in the development of any language. With the increase of general education and the expansion of technique to satisfy the ever-growing needs and desires of mankind, many words that were once terms have gradually lost their qualities as terms and have passed into the common literary vocabulary. This process may be called "de-terminization". Such words as radio, television, and the like have long been in common use and their terminological character is no longer evident. A good writer will confine himself to the use of terms that are easily understood from the context and those also that he finds absolutely necessary in the development of his theme. Here is an example of a moderate use of special terminology bordering on common literary vocabulary. "There was a long conversation - a long wait. His father came back to say it was doubtful whether they could make the loan. Eight per cent, then being secured for money, was a small rate of interest, considering its need. For ten per cent Mr. Kuzel might make a call-loan. Frank went back to his employer, whose commercial choler rose at the report." Such terms as 'loan', 'rate of interest', and the phrase 'to secure for money' are widely known financial terms which to the majority of the English and American reading public need no explanation. The terms used here do not bear any special meaning. Moreover, if they are not understood they may to some extent be

neglected. It will suffice if the reader has a general idea, vague though it may be, of the actual meaning of the terms used. The main task of the writer in this passage is not to explain the process of business negotiations, but to create the environment of a business atmosphere. A term has a stylistic function when it is used to create an atmosphere or to characterize a person through his calling and his consequent mode of expression. Sometimes terms are used with a satirical function. Here is an interesting example: "What a fool Rawdon Crawley has been," Clump replied, "to go and marry a governess! There was something about the girl too." "Green eyes, fair skin, pretty figure, famous frontal development," Squills remarked. The words 'frontal' and 'development', in addition to their ordinary meanings, have a terminological aspect, i.e., they belong both to the common literary stock and to a special group of the literary vocabulary, to the science of anatomy. But being paired, they lose their common aspect and become purely terminological. The combination becomes, as it were, an anatomical term signifying 'breast'. But being preceded by the word 'famous' used in the sense indicated by the Shorter Oxford Dictionary as "a strong expression of approval (chiefly colloquial): excellent, capital," the whole expression becomes satirical. In the following passage the metaphorical use of 'little animal', causes the terms to assume a satirical function. "I should like," said young Jolyon, "to lecture on it: Properties and qualities of a Forsyte. This little animal, disturbed by the ridicule of his own sort, is unaffected in his motions by the laughter of strange creatures (you and I). Hereditarily disposed to myopia, he recognizes only the persons and habitats of his own species, among which he passes an existence of competitive tranquillity." (John Galsworthy, "The Man of Property") The metaphor 'animal' has drawn into its terminological aspect such words and word combinations as 'sort', 'pass an existence', 'tranquillity'. On the other hand, the word "animal" used as a term involves other terms from the nomenclature of biology: 'creature', 'species', 'habitats', 'myopia' (med.). b) Poetic and Highly Literary Words Poetic words, as the term itself implies, are used primarily in poetry. They may be likened to terms in more than one way. First of all, they belong to a definite style of language and perform in it their direct function. If encountered in another style of speech, they assume a new function, mainly satirical, for the two notions, poetry and prose have been opposed to each other from time immemorial. Poetic language has special means of communication, i. e. rhythmical arrangement, some

syntactical peculiarities and a certain number of special words. The special poetic vocabulary has a marked tendency to detach itself from the common literary word stock and assume a special significance. Poetic words claim to be, as it were, of higher rank. They are aristocrats in the language and do not allow any mingling with the lower ranks. They make a careful selection of the company they circle in. Poetic words and expressions were called upon to sustain the special elevated atmosphere of poetry, a function, which they even now claim to carry out. V. V. Vinogradov gives the following properties of poetic words: "...the cobweb of poetic words and images veils the reality, stylizing it according to the established literary norms and canons. A word is torn away from its referent. Being drawn into the system of literary styles, the words are selected and arranged in groups of definite images, in phraseological series, which grow standardized and stale and are becoming conventional symbols of definite phenomena or characters or of definite ideas or impressions." Poetic words in the English language do not present a homogeneous group: They include archaic words, such as whilome, ne, leman, and many others, as in the second stanza of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Whilome in Albion's Isles there dwelt a youth, Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight, But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Ah me! In sooth he was a shameless wight Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; Few earthly things found favour in his sight Save concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. Poetical tradition has kept alive such archaic words and forms as yclept (p. p. of the old verb clipien- 'to call, name'); quoth (p. t. of cuoethan -'to speak'); eftsoons (eftsona,-'again', 'soon after'), which are used even by modern balladmongers. Let us note in passing that archaic words are here to be understood as units that have either entirely gone out of use, or as words some of whose meanings have grown archaic, e. g., hall in the following line from Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Deserted is my own good hall, its hearth is desolate. It must be remembered though, that not all English poetry makes use of "poeticisms or poetical terms", as they might be named. In the history of English literature there were periods, as there were in many countries, which were characterized by

protests against the use of such conventional symbols. The literary trends known as classicism and romanticism were particularly rich in fresh poetic terms. Poetical words in an ordinary environment may also have a satirical function as seen in this passage from Byron. But Adeline was not indifferent: for (Now for a common-place!) beneath the snow, As a volcano holds the lava more Within - et cetera. Shall I go on? - No, I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor, So let the often-used volcano go. Poor thing: How frequently, by me and others, It hath been stirred up till its smoke quite smothers! (Don Juan) The satirical function of poetic words and conventional poetic devices is well revealed in this stanza. The 'tired metaphor' and the 'often-used volcano' are typical of Byron's estimate of the value of conventional metaphors and stereotyped poetical expressions. The striving for the unusual - the characteristic feature of some kinds of poetry - is akin to the sensational and is therefore to be found not only in poetry, but in many other styles. A modern English literary critic has remarked that in journalese a policeman never goes to an appointed spot; he proceeds to it. The picturesque reporter seldom talks of a horse, it is a steed or a charger. The sky is the welkin; the valley is the vale; fire is the devouring element... Poetical words and word combinations can be likened to terms in that they do not easily yield to polysemy. They are said to evoke emotive meanings. They colour the utterance with a certain air of loftiness, but generally fail to produce a genuine feeling of delight: they are too hackneyed for the purpose, too stale. And that is the reason that the excessive use of poetisms at present calls forth protest and derision towards those who favour this conventional device. The use of poetic words does not as a rule create the atmosphere of poetry in the true sense; it is a substitute for real art. This is probably due to the very low degree of predictability, which is a property of a truly poetical work. Poetic words are not freely built in contrast to neutral, colloquial and common literary words, or terms. The commonest means is b\ compounding, e. g. 'young-eyed', 'often-used', in the above quotations from Byron. There is however one means of creating new poetic words still recognized as productive even in present-day English, viz. the use of a contracted form of a word instead of the full one, e. g., drear instead of dreary, scant (= 'scanty'). Sometimes the reverse process leads to the birth of a poetism, e.

g., vasty (='vast' 'The vasty deep,' i. e. the ocean); sleepy (='steep'); 'paly' (='pale'). These two conventional devices are called forth by the requirements of the metre of the poem, to add or remove a syllable, and are generally avoided by modern English poets, as the reader is apt to think him a poor poet if he could not find a better way to express himself in the chosen form. Poetical words and set expressions make the utterance understandable only to a limited number of readers. It is mainly due to poeticisms that poetical language is sometimes called poetical jargon. In modern English poetry there is a strong tendency to use words in strange combinations. It manifests itself in the coinage of new words and, most of all, in combining old and familiar words in a way that hinders understanding and forces the reader to stop and try to decipher the message so encoded. The following may serve as examples: "and time yet for a hundred indecisions." (T. S. Eliot) "he danced his did." (E. E. Cummings) "a grief ago." (Dylan Thomas) c) Archaic Words. The word stock of a language is in an increasing state of change. Words change their meaning and sometimes drop out of the language altogether. New words spring up and replace the old ones. Some words stay in the language a very long time and do not lose their faculty of gaining new meanings and becoming richer and richer polysemantically. Other words live but a short time and are like bubbles on the surface of water - they disappear leaving no trace of their existence. In registering these processes the role of dictionaries can hardly be overestimated. Dictionaries serve to retain this or that word in a language either as a relic of ancient times, where it lived and circulated, or as a still living unit of the system, though it may have lost some of its meanings. They may also preserve certain nonce-creations, which were never intended for general use. In every period in the development of a literary language one can find words which will show more or less apparent changes in their meaning or usage, from full vigour, through a moribund state, to death, i. e., complete disappearance of the unit from the language. We shall distinguish three stages in the aging process of words: The beginning of the aging process when the word becomes rarely used. Such words are called obsolescent, i. e., they are in the stage of gradually passing out of general use. To this category first of all belong morphological forms belonging to the earlier stages in the development of the language. In the English language these are the pronouns thou and its forms thee, thy and thine; the corresponding verbal ending -est and the verb-forms: art, wilt (thou makest, thou wilt); the ending -

(e)th instead of -(e)s (he maketh} and the pronoun ye. To the category of obsolescent words belong many French borrowings which have been kept in the literary language as a means of preserving the spirit of earlier periods, e. g. a pallet (= 'a straw mattress'); a palfrey (=='a small horse'); garniture (=='furniture'); to emplume (== 'to adorn with feathers or plumes'). The second group of archaic words are those that have already gone completely out of use but are still recognized by the English speaking community: e. g. methinks (= 'it seems tome'); nay (='no'). These words are called obsolete. The third group, which may be called archaic proper are words which are no longer recognizable in modern English, words that were in use in Old English and which have either dropped out of the language entirely or have changed in their appearance so much that they have become unrecognizable, e. g., troth (= 'faith'); a losel (= 'a worthless, lazy fellow'). The borderlines between the groups are not distinct. In fact they interpenetrate. It is especially difficult to distinguish between obsolete and obsolescent words. But the difference is important when we come to deal with the stylistic aspect of an utterance in which the given word serves a certain stylistic purpose. Obsolete and obsolescent words have separate functions, as we shall point out later. There is still another class of words which is erroneously classed as archaic, viz. historical words. By-gone periods in the life of any society are marked by historical events, and by institutions, customs, material objects, etc. which are no longer in use, for example: Thane, yeoman, goblet, baldric, mace. Words of this type never disappear from the language. They are historical terms and remain as terms referring to definite stages in the development of society and cannot therefore be dispensed with, though the things and phenomena to which they refer have long passed into oblivion. Historical words have no synonyms, whereas archaic words have been replaced by modern synonyms. Archaic words are primarily and predominantly used in the creation of a realistic background to historical novels. It must be pointed out, however, that the use of historical words (terms) in a passage written in scientific style, say, in an essay on the history of the Danish invasion, will bear no stylistic function at all. But the same terms when used in historical novels assume a different stylistic value. They carry, as it were, a special volume of information adding to the logical aspect of the communication. This, the main function of archaisms, finds different interpretation in different novels by different writers. Some writers overdo things in this respect, the result being that the reader finds all kinds of obstacles in his way.

Others underestimate the necessity of introducing obsolete or obsolescent elements into their narration and thus fail to convey what is called "local colour". In his "Letter to the Young Writer" A. N. Tolstoi states that the heroes of historical novels must think and speak in the way the time they live in, forces them to. If Stepan Razin, he maintains, were to speak of the initial accumulation of capital, the reader would throw the book under the table and he would be right. But the writer must know all about the initial accumulation of capital and view events from this particular position. On the whole Tolstoi's idea does not call for criticism. But the way it is worded may lead to the misconception that heroes of historical novels should speak the language of the period they live in. If those heroes really spoke the language of the time they lived in, the reader would undoubtedly throw the book under the table because he would be unable to understand it. As a matter of fact the heroes of historical novels speak the language of the period the writer and the reader live in, and the skill of the writer is required to colour the language with such obsolete or obsolescent elements as most naturally interweave with the texture of the modern literary language. These elements must not be archaic in the narrow sense. They must be recognizable to the native reader and not hinder his understanding of the communication. The difficulty and subtlety required in handling archaic words and phrases was acutely felt by A. S. Pushkin. In his article "Juri Miloslavski, or the Russian of 1612," Pushkin writes: "Walter Scott carried along with him a crowd of imitators. But how far they are from the Scottish charmer! Like Agrippa's pupil, they summoned the demon of the Past but they could not handle him and fell victims of their own imprudence." Walter Scott was indeed an inimitable master in the creation of an historical atmosphere. He used the stylistic means that create this atmosphere with such skill and discrimination, that the reader is scarcely aware that the heroes of the novels speak his language and not that of their own epoch. Walter Scott himself states the principles, which he considers basic for the purpose: the writer's language must not be out of date and therefore incomprehensible, but words and phrases of modern coinage should not be used. "It is one thing to use the language to express feelings common both to us and to our forefathers," says Scott, "but it is another thing to impose upon them the emotions and speech characteristics of their descendants." In accordance with these principles Walter Scott never photographs the language of earlier periods; he sparingly introduces into the texture of his language

a few words and expressions more or less obsolescent in character, and this is enough to convey the desired effect without unduly interlarding present-day English with outdated elements of speech. Therefore, we can find such words as methinks, haply, nay, travail, repast and the like in great number and of course a multiplicity of historical terms. But you will hardly find a true archaism of the nature indicated in our classification as archaisms proper. Besides the function just mentioned, archaic words and phrases have other functions to be found in other styles. They are, first of all, frequently to be found in the style of official documents. In business letters, in legal language, in all kinds of statutes, in diplomatic documents and in all kinds of legal documents one can find obsolescent words, which would long ago have become obsolete if it were not for the preserving power of the special use within the above-mentioned spheres of communication. It is the same with archaic and obsolete words in poetry. As has already been pointed out, they are employed in the poetic style as special terms and hence prevented from dropping completely out of the language. Among the obsolescent elements of the English vocabulary preserved within the style of official documents, the following may be mentioned: aforesaid, hereby, therewith, hereinafternamed. The function of archaic words and constructions in official documents is terminological in character. They are used here because they help to maintain that exactness of expression so necessary in this style Archaic words and particularly archaic forms of words are sometimes used for satirical purposes. This is achieved through what is called Anticlimax. The situation in which the archaism is used is not appropriate to the context. There appears a sort of discrepancy between the words actually used and the ordinary situation, which excludes the possibility of such a usage. The low predictability of an archaism when it appears in ordinary speech produces the necessary satirical effect. Here is an example of such a use of an archaic form. In Shaw's play "How He Lied to Her Husband" a youth of eighteen, speaking of his feelings towards a "female of thirty-seven" expresses himself in a language which is not in conformity with the situation. His words are: "Perfect love casteth off fear." Archaic words, word-forms and word combinations are also used to create an elevated effect. Language is specially moulded to suit a solemn occasion: all kinds of stylistic devices are used, and among them is the use of archaisms. d) Barbarisms and Foreign Words

In the vocabulary of the English language there is a considerable layer of words called barbarisms. These are words of foreign origin, which have not entirely been assimilated into the English language. They bear the appearance of a borrowing and are felt as something alien to the native tongue. The role, foreign borrowings played in the development of the English literary language, is well known, and the great majority of these borrowed words now form part of the rank and file of the English vocabulary. It is the science of linguistics, in particular its branch Etymology, that reveals the foreign nature of this or that word. But most of what were formerly foreign borrowings are now, from a purely stylistic position, not regarded as foreign. But still there are some words, which retain their foreign appearance to a greater or lesser degree. These words, which are called barbarisms, are, like archaisms, also considered to be on the outskirts of the literary language. Most of them have corresponding English synonyms; e. g. chic= == 'stylish'; bon mot (== 'a clever witty saying'); en passant (== 'in passing'); ad infinitum (== 'to infinity') and many other words and phrases. It is very important for purely stylistic purposes to distinguish between barbarisms and foreign words proper. Barbarisms are words, which have already become facts of the English language. They are, as it were, part and parcel of the English word stock, though they remain on the outskirts of the literary vocabulary. Foreign words, though used for certain stylistic purposes, do not belong to the English vocabulary. They are not registered by English dictionaries, except in a kind of addenda which gives the meanings of the foreign words most frequently used in literary English. Barbarisms are generally given in the body of the dictionary. In printed works foreign words and phrases are generally italicized to indicate their alien nature or their stylistic value. Barbarisms, on the contrary, are not made conspicuous in the text unless they bear a special load of stylistic information. There are foreign words in the English vocabulary, which fulfill a terminological function. Therefore, though they still retain their foreign appearance, they should not be regarded as barbarisms. Such words as ukase, udarnik, soviet, kolkhoz and the like denote certain concepts, which reflect an objective reality not familiar to English-speaking communities. There are no names for them in English and so they have to be explained. New concepts of this type are generally given the names they have in the language of the people whose reality they reflect.

Further, such words as solo, tenor, concerto, blitzkrieg ('the blitz'), luftwaffe and the like should also be distinguished from barbarisms. They are different not only in their functions but in their nature as well. They are terms. Terminological borrowings have no synonyms; barbarisms, on the contrary, may have almost exact synonyms. It is evident that barbarisms are a historical category. Many foreign words and phrases which were once just foreign words used in literary English to express a concept non-existent in English reality, have little by little entered the class of words named barbarisms and many of these barbarisms have gradually lost their foreign peculiarities, become more or less naturalized and have merged with the native English stock of words. Conscious, retrograde, spurious and strenuous are words in Ben Johnson's play "The Poetaster" which were made fun of in the author's time as unnecessary borrowings from the French. With the passing of time they have become common English literary words. They no longer raise objections on the part of English purists. The same can be said of the words scientific, methodical, penetrate, function, figurative, obscure, and many others, which were once barbarisms, but which are now lawful members of the common literary word stock of the language. Both foreign words and barbarisms are widely used in various styles of language with various aims, aims, which predetermine their typical functions. One of these functions is to supply local colour. In order to depict local conditions of life, concrete facts and events, customs and habits, special care is taken to introduce into the passage such language elements as will reflect the environment. In this respect a most conspicuous role is played by the language chosen, in "Vanity Fair" Thackeray takes the reader to a small German town where a boy with a remarkable appetite is made the focus of attention. By introducing several German words into his narrative, the author gives an indirect description of the peculiarities of the German menu and the environment in general. "The little boy, too, we observed, had a famous appetite, and consumed schinken, and braten, and kartoffeln, and cranberry jam... with a gallantry that did honour to his nation." The German words are italicized to show their alien nature and at the same time their stylistic function in the passage. These words have not become facts of the English language and need special decoding to be understood by the rank and file English-speaking reader. In this connection mention might be made of a stylistic device often used by writers whose knowledge of the language and customs of the country they depict bursts out from the texture of the narrative. They use foreign words and phrases

and, sometimes, whole sentences quite regardless of the fact, that these may not be understood by the reader. However, one suspects, that the words are not intended to be understood exactly. All that is required of the reader is that he should be aware that the words used are foreign and mean something, in the above case connected with food. In the above passage the association of food is maintained throughout by the use of the words 'appetite', 'consumed' and the English 'cranberry jam'. The context therefore leads the reader to understand that schinhen, braten and kartoffeln are words denoting some kind of food, but exactly what kind he will learn when he travels in Germany. The function of the foreign words used in the context may be considered to provide local colour as a background to the narrative. In passages of other kinds units of speech may be used which will arouse only a vague conception in the mind of the reader. The significance of such units, however, is not communicative - the author does not wish them to convey any clear-cut idea - but to serve in making the main idea stand out more conspicuously. This device may be likened to one used in painting by representatives of the Dutch school who made their background almost indistinguishable in order that the foreground elements might stand out distinctly and colourfully. An example, which is even more characteristic of the use of the local colour function of foreign words is the following stanza from Byron's "Don Juan": ..more than poet's pen Can point,- "Cosi viaggino: Ricchi!" (Excuse a foreign slip-slop now and then, If but to show I've traveld: and what's travel Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?) The poet himself calls the foreign words he has used "slip-slop", i. e. twaddle, something nonsensical. Another function of barbarisms and foreign words is to build up the stylistic device of non-personal direct speech or represented speech. The use of a word or a phrase or a sentence in the reported speech of a local inhabitant helps to reproduce his actual words, manner of speech and the environment as well. Thus, in James Aldridge's "Sea Eagle"-"And the Cretans were very willing to feed and hide the Inglisi" - the last word is intended to reproduce the actual speech of the local people by introducing a word actually spoken by them, a word which is very easily understood because of the root.

Generally such words are first introduced in the direct speech of a character and then appear in the author's narrative as an element of reported speech. Thus in the novel "The Sea Eagle" the word 'benzina' (=motor boat) is first mentioned in the direct speech of a Cretan: "It was a warship that sent out its benzina to catch us and look for guns." Later, the author uses the same word but already in reported speech: "He heard too the noise of a benzina engine starting." Barbarisms and foreign words are used in various styles of writing, but are most often to be found in the style of belles-lettres and the publicistic style. In the belles-lettres style, however, foreignisms are sometimes used not only as separate units incorporated in the English narrative. The author makes his character actually speak a foreign language, by putting a string of foreign words into his mouth, words, which to many readers may be quite unfamiliar. These phrases or whole sentences are sometimes translated by the writer in a footnote or by explaining the foreign utterance in English in the text. But this is seldom done. Here is an example of the use of French by John Galsworthy: "Revelation was alighting like a bird in his heart, singing: "Elle est ton reve! Elle est ton reve!" No translation is given, no interpretation. But something else must be pointed out here. Foreign words and phrases may sometimes be used to exalt the expression of the idea, to elevate the language. This is in some respect akin to the function of elevation mentioned in the chapter on archaisms. Words, which we do not quite understand, sometimes have a peculiar charm; that is probably the reason why some pseudo-scientists like wordmonsters so much. They may frighten the opponent out of the necessity of arguing on points the inventor of the term himself is not quite sure of. This magic quality in words, a quality not easily grasped, has long been observed and made use of in various kinds of utterances, particularly in poetry and folklore. But the introduction of foreign speech into the texture of the English language hinders understanding and if constantly used becomes irritating. It may be likened, in some respect, to jargon. Soames Forsyte, for example, calls it exactly that. "Epatant! he heard one say. "Jargon!" growled Soames to himself. The introduction of actual foreign words in an utterance is not, to our mind, a special stylistic device, inasmuch as it is not a conscious and intentional literary use of the facts of the English language. However, foreign words, being alien to the texture of the language in which the work is written, always arrest the attention of the reader and therefore have a definite stylistic function. Sometimes the skilful use

of one or two foreign words will be sufficient to create the impression of an utterance made in a foreign language. Thus in the following example: "Deutsche Soldaten - a little while ago, you received a sample of American strength." (Stefan Heym, "The Crusaders") The two words 'Deutsche Soldaten' are sufficient to create the impression that the actual speech was made in German and not in English. The same effect is sometimes achieved by the slight distortion of an English word, or a distortion of English grammar in such a way that the morphological aspect of the distortion will bear a resemblance to the morphology of the foreign tongue, for example: "He look at Miss Forsyte so funny sometimes. I tell him all my story; he so sympatisch." (Galsworthy) Barbarisms have still another function when used in the belles-lettres style. We may call it an "exactifying" function. Words of foreign origin generally have a more or less monosemantic value. In other words, they do not tend to develop new meanings. The English So long, for example, due to its conventional usage has lost its primary meaning. It has become a formal phrase of parting. Not so with the French "Au reuoir." When used in English as a formal sign of parting it will either carry the exact meaning of the words it is composed of, viz. 'See you again soon', or have another stylistic function. Here is an example: "She had said 'Au revoir! Not good-bye!" (Galsworthy) The formal and conventional salutation at parting has become a meaningful sentence set against another formal salutation at parting which in its turn is revived by the process to its former significance of "God be with you," i. e. a salutation used when parting for a long time, or forever. In publicistjc_style the use of barbarisms and foreign words is mainly confined to colouring the passage on the problem in question with a touch of authority. A person who uses so many foreign words and phrases is obviously a very educated person, the reader thinks, and therefore a "man who knows." Here are some examples of the use of barbarisms in the publicistic style: "Yet en passant I would like to ask here (and answer) what did Rockefeller think of Labour..." (Dreiser, "Essays and Articles") "Civilization" - as they knew it - still depended upon making profits ad infinitum." (ibid.) We may remark in passing that Dreiser was particularly fond of using barbarisms not only in his essays and articles but in his novels and stories as well. And this brings us to another question. Is the use of barbarisms and foreign words a matter of individual preference of expression, a certain ideosyncrasy of this or that writer? Or is there a definite norm regulating the usage of this means of expression in different styles of speech? The reader is invited to make his own observations and inferences on the matter. The

answer to the question will be arrived at after a thorough study of the properties and characteristic features of each of the styles. However, a preliminary remark will not come amiss. Individual preference for one or another form or stylistic device is typical in the two styles of writing just mentioned. This property is not to be observed as typical in other styles, though it may be encountered in some of those enumerated in this book. e) Literary Coinages (Including Nonce-words) There is a term in linguistics, which by its very nature is ambiguous and that is the term neologism. In dictionaries it is generally defined as 'a new word 'or a new meaning for an established word. Everything in this definition is vague. How long should words or their meanings be regarded as new? Which words of those that appear as new in the language, say during the lifetime of one generation, can be regarded as established? It is suggestive that the latest editions of certain dictionaries avoid the use of the stylistic notation "neologism" apparently because of its ambiguous character. If a word is fixed in a dictionary and provided that the dictionary is reliable, it ceases to be a neologism. If a new meaning is recognized as an element in the semantic structure of a lexical unit, it ceases to be new. However, if we wish to divide the word stock of a language into chronological periods, we can conventionally mark off a period, which might be called new. Every period in the development of a language produces an enormous number of new words or new meanings of established words. Most of them do not live long. They are not meant to live long. They are, as it were, coined for use at the moment of speech, and therefore possess a peculiar property - that of temporariness. The given word or meaning holds only in the given context and is meant only to "serve the occasion." However, such is the power of the written language, that a word or a meaning used only to serve the occasion, when once fixed in writing, may become part and parcel of the general vocabulary irrespective of the quality of the word. That's why the introduction of new words by men-of-letters is pregnant with unforeseen consequences: their new coinages may replace old words and become established in the language as synonyms and later as substitutes for the old words. In this connection it might be noted that such words as subject, object, and their derivatives as well as type, progress, and others introduced into the literary Russian language by V. G. Belinsky have become legitimate Russian words firmly established in the word stock of the Russian language and are no longer felt to be alien to the literary language as they were in the nineteenth century.

The coining of new words generally arises, first of all, with the need to designate new concepts resulting from the development of science and also with the need to express nuances of meaning called forth by a deeper understanding of the nature of the phenomenon in question. It may also be the result of a search for a more economical, brief and compact form of utterance, which proves to be a more expressive means of communicating the idea. The first type of newly coined words, i. e. those, which designate newborn concepts, may be named terminological coinages or terminological neologisms. The second type, i. e. words coined because their creators seek expressive utterance may be named stylistic coinages or stylistic neologisms. Neologisms are mainly coined according to the productive models for word building in the given language. But the neologisms of the literarybookish type we are dealing with in this chapter may sometimes be built with the help of affixes and by other means which have gone out of use or which are in the process of dying out. In this case, the stylistic effect produced by the means of word building chosen becomes more apparent, and the stylistic function of the device can be felt more acutely. It often happens, however, that the sensitive reader finds a new application of an already existing word almost revolting. Purists of all shades rise up in protest against what they call the highly objectionable and illegitimate usage of the word. But being once successfully used, it may be repeated by other writers and so may remain in the language and moreover, may influence the further history of the semantic development of the word. V. V. Vinogradov justly remarks that "...The turning point in the semantic history of many words is the new, vividly expressive, figurative, individual use of them. This new and genuinely artistic application of a word, if it is in conformity with the general tendencies of the semantic development of the language, not infrequently predetermines the further semantic development of the word." Among new coinages of a literary-bookish type must be mentioned a considerable layer of words appearing in the publicistic style, mainly in newspaper articles and magazines and also in the newspaper style - mostly in newspaper headlines. To these belongs the word Blimp - a name coined by Low, the wellknown English cartoonist. The name was coined to designate an English colonel famous for his conceit, brutality, ultra-conservatism. This word gave birth to a derivative, viz. Blimpish. Other examples are 'backlash' (in 'backlash policy.) and its opposite 'frontlash'. Literary critics, men-of-letters and linguists have manifested

different attitudes towards new coinages both literary and colloquial. Ever since the 16th century, literature has shown example after example of the losing battle of the purists who try to hinder the natural progress of the language. Of course, there are different degrees of purism. In other words, the efforts of scholars to preserve the purity of their language should not always be regarded as conservative. They do not look upon any and every change with suspicion or regard an innovation as invariably a corruption of the language. Most of the coinages of the 16th century as well as those of the 17th were foreign borrowings from Latin, Greek and continental French. The words were introduced into the English language and used in the same sense and with almost the same pronunciation as in the language they were borrowed from. But most of those, which have remained in the language underwent changes due to the process of assimilation and were finally "naturalized." This process is slow. It sometimes takes centuries to make a word borrowed from another language sound quite English. The tempo of assimilation is different with different borrowings, depending in particular on the language the word is borrowed from. Borrowings from the French language are easily and quickly assimilated due to longestablished tradition. The process of assimilation plays a rather important role in the stylistic evaluation of a lexical unit. The greater and the deeper the process of assimilation, the more general and common the word becomes, the less bookish it sounds, and the greater the probability of its becoming a member of the neutral layer of words. Throughout the history of the English literary language, scholars have expressed their opposition to three main lines of innovation in the vocabulary: firstly, to borrowings which they considered objectionable because of the irregularity of their coinage, secondly, to the revival of archaic words and thirdly, because the process of creation of new words was too rapid for the literary language to assimilate. The opposition to one or other of these lines of innovation increased in violence at different stages in the development of the language, and switched from one to another in accordance with the general laws of development in the given period. We shall refer the reader to books on the history of the English language for a more detailed analysis of the attitude of purists of different shades to innovations. Our task here is to trace the literary, bookish character of coinages and to show, which of their features have contributed to their stylistic labels. Some words have indeed passed from the literary-bookish layer of the vocabulary where they first appeared into the stratum of common literary words and then into the

neutral stratum. Others have remained within the literary-bookish group of words and have never shown any tendency to move downwards in the scale. This fact is apparently due to the linguistic background of the new coinages and also to the demand for a new unit to express nuances of meaning. In our times the same tendency to coin new words is to be observed in England and particularly in the United States of America. The literary language is literally inundated with all kinds of new coinages and a considerable body of protest has arisen against them. It is enough to look through some of the articles of the New York Times on the subject to see what direction the protest against innovations takes. Unlike earlier periods in the development of the English language, modern times are characterized' by a vigorous protest against the unrestrained influx of new coinages, whether they have been built in accordance with the norms of the language, or whether they are of foreign origin. An article in the Ottawa Evening Journal (Feb. 1957), entitled "Massey Deplores Use of Bad English," states: "The danger is not that the reading public would desert good books, but that abuse of the written language may ruin books. "As for words, we are never at a loss; if they do not exist, we invent them. We carry out purposeful projects in a meaningful manner in order to achieve insightful experiences. "We diarize, we earlirize; any day we may begin to futurize. We also itinerize, reliablize; and we not only decontaminate and dehumidify but we debureaucratize and we deinsectize. We are, in addition, discovering how good and pleasant it is to fellowship with one another. "I can only say, 'let us finalize all this nonsense'." The writer of the article then proceeds to give an explanation of the reasons for such unrestrained coinage. He states that some of the writers "...are not ashamed of writing badly but rather proud of writing at all and - with a certain vanity - are attracted by gorgeous words which give to their slender thoughts an appearance of power." Perhaps the writer of this article is not far from the truth when he ascribes literary coinage to the desire to make utterances more pompous and sensational. It is suggestive that the majority of such coinages are found in newspaper and magazine articles, and like the articles themselves, live but a short time. As their effect is transitory, it must be instantaneous. If a newly coined word can serve the demand of the moment, what does it matter to the writer whether it is a necessary word or not? The freshness of the creation is its primary and indispensable quality. The fate of literary coinages, unlike colloquial ones, mainly depends on the number

of rival synonyms already existing in the vocabulary of the language. It also depends on the shade of meaning the new coinage may convey to the mind of the reader. If a neologism is approved of by native speakers and becomes widely used, it ceases to be a neologism and becomes part and parcel of the general vocabulary in spite of the objections of men-of-letters and other lawgivers of the language, whoever they may be. Many new coinages disappear entirely from the language, leaving no mark of their even brief existence. Other literary neologisms leave traces in the vocabulary because they are fixed in the literature of their time. In other words new literarybookish coinages will always leave traces in the language, inasmuch as they appear in writing. This is not the case with colloquial coinages. These, as we shall see later, are spontaneous, and due to their linguistic nature, cannot be fixed unless special care is taken by specialists to preserve them. Most of the literary-bookish coinages are built by means of affixation and word compounding. This is but natural; new words built in this manner will be immediately perceived because of their unexpectedness. Unexpectedness in the use of words is the natural device of those writers who seek to achieve the sensational. It is interesting to note in passing that conversion, which has become one of the most productive word-building devices of the English language and which is more and more widely used to form new words in all parts of speech, is less effective in producing the sensational effect sought by literary coinage than is the case with other means of word-building. Conversion has become organic in the English language. Semantic word building, giving an old word a new meaning, is rarely employed by writers, who coin new words for journalistic purposes. It is too slow and imperceptible in its growth to produce any kind of sensational effect. Conversion, derivation and change of meaning may be registered as means by which literary-bookish neologisms are formed. These three means of word building are mostly used to coin new terms where new meanings are imposed on old words. Among new coinages of this kind the word survival may be mentioned. The new meaning, which has been given to this word, is, according to the "Aerospace Glossary", "the primitive act or state of continuing to live." The new meaning coexists with the old ones. In other words, new meanings imposed on old words form one system in which old and new meanings are ranged in a dictionary according to their rate of frequency or to some other underlying principle. But there are cases when new meanings imposed on old words drive out old meanings. In this case we

register a gradual change in the meaning of the word, which may not incorporate the old one. In most cases, however, the old meaning is hardly felt; it is generally forgotten and can only be re-established by etymological analysis. Thus the word admire, which as in Latin first meant 'to feel or express surprise or astonishment', has today lost its primary meaning and now has acquired a new one which however, still contains a shade of the old, viz. 'to regard with wonder and approval, esteem or affection, to delight in'. The process of elimination of the old meaning, as is seen from this example, is slow and smooth. Hardly ever can we register a sudden switch from one meaning to another: there is always a gradual transition, and not infrequently the two competing meanings co-exist, manifesting in this co-existence an almost imperceptible internal struggle which ends in the complete elimination of one of them. Almost half of the words in the 18th century "English Dictionary" compiled by Samuel Johnson may serve as examples of change of meaning. A word or two taken at random will confirm the statement just made. The word to fascinate meant 'to bewitch'; 'to enchant'; 'to influence in some wicked and secret manner'. The word available is explained in Johnson's Dictionary as "1. Profitable; Advantageous. 2. Powerful, in force." True, in some respects Johnson's Dictionary cannot be regarded as a reliable source of information: his attitude towards colloquial idiom is well known. It was not only aversion - it was a manifestation of his theoretical viewpoint. James Boswell in' his "Life of Johnson" says that the compiler of the dictionary was at all times jealous of infractions upon the genuine English language, and prompt to repress what he called colloquial barbarisms; such as 'pledging myself for 'undertaking', line for 'department' or 'branch', as, the civil line, the banking line. He was particularly indignant against the almost universal use of the word idea in the sense of 'notion' or 'opinion', when it is clear that idea, being derived from the Greek word meaning 'to see', can only signify something of which an image can be formed in the mind. We may have an idea or image of a mountain, a tree, a building; but we cannot surely have an idea or image of an argument or proposition. As has been pointed out, word building by means of affixation is still predominant in coining new words. Examples are: orbiter -'a spacecraft designed to orbit a celestial body'; lander-'a spacecraft designed to land on such a body'; missileer -'a person skilled in missilry or in the launching and control of missiles'; fruitologist and wreckotogist, which were used in a letter to the editor of The Times from a person

living in Australia. Another monster of the ink-horn type is the word overdichotomize- to split something into too many parts, which is commented upon in an article in New' York Times Magazine: "It is, alas, too much to expect that this fine flower of language, a veritable hot-house specimen - combining as it does a vogue word with a vogue suffix - will long survive." The literary-bookish character of such coinages is quite apparent and needs no comment. They are always felt to be over-literary because either the stem or the affix (or both) is not used in the way the reader expects it to be used. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that by forcibly putting together a familiar stem and a familiar affix and thus producing an unfamiliar word, a neologism, the writer compels the reader to concentrate his attention on the new word, firstly by its novelty and secondly by the necessity of analysing it in order to decipher the message. By using a neologism instead of the probable word or combination of words, he violates the main property of a communication, which is to convey the idea straightforwardly and promptly. Among new creations those with the suffix -ize seem to be the most frequent. The suffix -ize gives a strong shade of bookishness to new words. Here are some more examples of neologisms with this suffix: 'detribahlized (Africans)'; 'accessorize'; 'moisturize' 'villagize'. Thomas Pyles writes: "The -ize suffix... is very voguish in advertizing copy, a most potent disseminator of modish expressions; ...its fashionableness may explain why 'hospitalize', current since the turn of the century, has recently begun to flourish." Some affixes are themselves literary in character and naturally carry this property to derivatives formed with their help. Thus, for example, the prefix antihas given us a number of new words, which are gradually becoming recognizable as facts of the English vocabulary, e. g. 'anti -novelist', 'anti -hero', anti-world, anti-emotion, 'anti-trend', and the like. The prefix anti-, as is seen from these examples, has developed a new meaning. It is rather difficult to specify. In the most general terms - it may be defined as 'the reverse of. In this connection it will be interesting to quote the words of an English journalist and essayist. "The spirit of opposition is as necessary as the presence of rules and disciplines, but unlimited kicking over traces can become a tedious exercise. So can this popular business of being 'anti' in general. In the world of letters the critical lingo of our time speaks of the 'anti-novel' or 'anti-play' which has an 'anti-hero'. Since there is a fashion for characters unable to communicate,

people with nothing to say and no vocabulary with which to explain their vacuity, 'anti-writing' may fairly be described as possessing 'anti-dialogue'." The suffix -dom has also developed a new meaning, as in 'gangdom, 'freckledom, 'musicdom', where the suffix is used with the most general meaning of collectivity. The suffix -ee has been given new life. We have 'interrogatee', autobiographee' ("...the pseudo-autobiographer has swallowed the autobiographee whole." New Statesman, Nov. 29, 1963); 'enrollee' ("Each enrollee is given a booklet filled with advice and suggestions, and attends the lecture..." New York Times Magazine, Jan., 26, 1964); 'omittee', 'askee' ("That's a bad habit, asking a question and not waiting for an answer, but it's not always bad for the askee." Rex Stout, "Too many clients"). The suffix -ship has also developed a new shade of meaning which is now gaining literary recognition, as in the neologisms: 'showmanship', brinkmanship', 'lifemanship', 'lipmanship', 'mistressmanship, 'supermanship', 'one-upmanship', etc. In these coinages an interesting phenomenon seems to be taking place. The word man is gradually growing first into a half-suffix and finally into part of the complex suffix -manship with the approximate meaning 'the ability to do something better than another person'. Among voguish suffixes which colour new coinages with a shade of bookishness is the suffix -ese, the dictionary definition of which is "1) belonging to a city or country as inhabitant (inhabitants) or language, e. g. Genoese, Chinese; 2) pertaining to a particular writer (of style or diction), e. g. Johnsonese, journalese." Modern examples are: 'Daily-Telegraphese', 'New Yorkese'; recently a new word has appeared - 'TV-ese'. It is the novelty of these creations that attracts our attention and it is the unexpectedness of the combination that makes us feel that the new coinage is of a bookish character. The resistance of purists to the unrestrained flow of new coinages of a bookish character, which greatly outnumbers the natural colloquial creations, can be illustrated in the following words of Robert E. Morseberger: "Anyone familiar with the current crop of horror movies knows that weird mutations caused by atomic radiation have spawned a brood of malignant monsters, from giant insects (half human and otherwise) to blobs of glup. While these fortunately are confined to science fiction, our language itself demonstrates similar grotesque mutations in truncated, telescoped words and words with extra inflationary growths on the suffix end, not counting the jargon of special groups from beatniks to sociologists. "Among the more frequent and absurd of these linguistic monsters are condensed

words ending in -rama and -thon. The former comes from panorama from the Greek pan (='all') plus horama (= 'a view') or cyclorama from the Greek kyklos (= 'a circle') plus horama again. So far so good; the next development is cinerama, still sound, from the Greek kinema (= 'motion') and our old friend horama. "Now the advertisers have taken the suffix-root and proceed to torture it out of sense and recognition, with horama (or rather a vowel followed by -rama no longer meaning simply a view but an entire spectacle or simply a superlative, so that the suffix has devoured all the original panorama in such distortions as cleanorama (= 'a spectacular cleaning spree'); tomato-rama, beanarama, bananarama {= 'a sensational sale of tomatoes, beans or bananas')... "Keeping pace with -rama (pacerama) is -than, a suffix newly minted from ancient metal. Pheidippides' race from the battlefield of Marathon and the later foot race of that name gave 'the noun Marathon the meaning of an endurance contest; but we now have to endure -thon alone, divorced, and made into a self-sustaining suffix in (so&!) such words as telethon, walk-athon, talkathon, danceathon, cleanathon, ... Clearly -thon and -rama compete in the rivalry between cleanathon and cleanorama; both bastard suffixes have swallowed their original noun, and it is only logical that they should next swallow each other in 'thonorama' (='an endurance of various -ramas')or ramathon ('==a panoramic or sensational endurance contest'). The reader will undoubtedly not fail to observe that the protest against these "ink-horn" terms is not based on any sound linguistic foundation. It merely shows the attitude of the writer towards certain novelties in language. They seem to him monstrous. But there is no indication as to what makes them monstrous. The writer himself readily uses new coinages such as giup, beatniks without quotation marks, which shows, evidently, that he is reconciled to them. Strugglesome, informatative, connotate, unworthwhile, inferiorism, deride, to be accusated, sedimentality are other words which he apparently considers distortions. The last string of literary coinages is supplied with the following footnote: "All words used in this sentence are gratefully acknowledged as coming from college freshman themes." Unfortunately there are no objective criteria for ascertaining the stylistic aspect of words. Therefore the protest of many language purists is sometimes based on subjective idiosyncrasy. We find objections to the ways and means of coining new words, as in the quotation above, and also to the unrestrained injection into some words of emotive meaning when this meaning, it is said, has not yet been widely

recognized, as top (='excellent', 'wonderful'), fey (='somewhat whimsical, in touch with the supernatural, a little cracked'). This second objection applies particularly to the colloquial stratum of words. We also find objections to the new logical meanings forced upon words, as is done by a certain J. Bell in an article on advertizing agencies. "Highly literate men are busy selling cancer and alcoholism to the public, commending inferior goods, garbling facts, confusing figures, exploiting emotions..." Here the word sell is used in the sense of establishing confidence in something, of speaking convincingly, of persuading the public to do, or buy and use something (in this case cigarettes, wine and spirits); the word commend has developed the meaning of 'recommend' and the word Inferior has come to mean 'lower in price, cheap'; to garble, the primary meaning of which is 'to sort by sifting', now also means 'to distort in order to mislead'; to confuse is generally used in the sense of 'to mix up in mind', to exploit emotions means 'making use of people's emotions for the sake of gain'. All these words have acquired new meanings because they are used in combinations not yet registered in the language-as-a-system. It is a well-known fact that any word, if placed in a strange environment, will inevitably and forcibly acquire a new shade of meaning. Not to see this, means not to correctly evaluate the inner laws of the semantic development of lexical units. There is still another means of word-building in modern English which may be considered voguish at the present time, and that is the blending of two words into one by curtailing the end of the first component or the beginning of the second. Examples are numerous: musicomedy (music+comedy); cinemactress (cinema+actress); avigation (aviation+navigation); and the already recognized blends like smog (smoke+fog); chortle (chuckle+snort); Galumph (triumph+gallop) (both occur in Humpty Dumpty's poem in Lewis Carroll's "Through the Looking Glass"). A rockoon (rocket+balloon) is 'a rocket designed to be launched from a balloon'. Such newly coined words are called blends. In reviewing the ways and means of coining new words, we must not overlook one, which plays a conspicuous role in changing the meaning of words and mostly concerns stylistics. We mean injecting into well-known, commonly used words with clear-cut concrete meanings, a meaning that the word did not have before. This is generally due to the combinative power of the word. This aspect of words has long been underestimated by linguists. Pairing words, which hitherto have not

been paired, makes the components of the word combinations acquire a new, and sometimes quite unexpected, meaning. Particularly productive is the 'adjective. It tends to acquire an emotional meaning alongside its logical meaning, as, for instance, terrible, awful. The result is that an adjective of this kind becomes an intensifier: it merely indicates the degree of the positive or negative quality of the concept embodied in the word that follows. When it becomes generally accepted, it becomes part of the semantic structure of the word, and in this way the semantic wealth of the vocabulary increases. True, this process is mostly found in the domain of conversation. In conversation an unexpectedly free use of words is constantly made. It is in conversation that such words as stunning, grand, colossal, 'wonderful, exciting and the like have acquired this intensifying derivative meaning which we call emotive. But the literary-bookish language, in quest of new means of impressing the reader, also resorts to this means of word coinage. It is mostly the product of newspaper language, where the necessity, nay the urge, to discover new means of impressing the reader is greatest. In this connection it is interesting to quote articles from English and American periodicals in which problems of language in its functional aspect are occasionally discussed. In one of them, "Current Cliches and Solecisms" by Edmund Wilson, the improper application of the primary and accepted meanings of the words massive, crucial, transpire and others is condemned. The author of the article is unwilling to acknowledge the objective development of the word stock and instead of fixing the new meanings that are gaining ground in the semantic structure of these words, he tries to block them from literary usage while neglecting the fact that these new meanings have already been established in the language. This is what he says: "Massive! I have also written before of this stupid and oppressive word, which seems to have become since then even more common as a ready cliche that acts as a blackout on thinking. One now meets it in every department: literary, political, scientific. In a period of moral impotence, so many things are thought as intimidating that they are euphemistically referred to as massive. I shall not present further examples except to register a feeling of horror at finding this adjective resorted to three times, and twice in the same paragraph, by Lionetl Trilling in Commentary, in the course of an otherwise admirable discussion of the Leavis-Snow controversy: massive significance of "The Two Cultures", massive intention of "The Two Cultures", quite massive blunder of Snow in regard to the Victorian writers. Was Snow's essay really that huge and weighty? If it was,

perhaps it might follow that any blunder in it must also be massive." Another of these emotional intensifiers is the word crucial. It also raises objections on the part of purists and among them the one whose article we are quoting. "This word", writes Edmund Wilson, "which means properly decisive, critical, has come to be used, and used constantly, in writing as well as in conversation as if it meant merely important... 'But what is crucial, of course, is that these books aren't very good...' 'Of course it is of crucial importance'." Another type of neologism is the nonce-word, i.e. a word coined to suit one particular occasion. Nonce-words remain on the outskirts of the literary language and not infrequently remind us of the writers who coined them. They are created to designate some insignificant subjective idea or evaluation of a thing or phenomenon and generally become moribund. They rarely pass into the language as legitimate units of the vocabulary, but they remain in the language as constant manifestations of its innate power of word building. Here are some of these neologisms, which, by the way, have the right to be called so because they will always remain neologisms, i. e. will never lose their novelty: "Let me say in the beginning that even if I wanted to avoid Texas I could not, for I am wived in Texas, and mother--in-lawed, and uncled, and aunted, and cousined within an inch of my life." The past participles mother-in-lawed, uncled, aunted and cousined are coined for the occasion on the analogy of wived and can hardly be expected to be registered by English dictionaries as ordinary English words. In modern English new words are also coined by a means which is very productive in technical literature and therefore is mostly found in scientific style, viz. by contractions and abbreviations. But this means is sometimes resorted to for stylistic purposes. Here are some of these coinages, which appear daily in different spheres of human activity. TRUD (=time remaining until dive). The first letters of this word sequence forms the neologism TRUD, which will presumably remain as a professional term unknown to wider circles of native English speakers. Such also are the words LOX (==1. liquid oxygen explosive, 2. liquid oxygen) and GOX (gaseous oxygen). To the layman, oxygen is a gas, but in missilry (also a new coinage) it is more often a liquid or even a solid, so gaseous oxygen has to be distinguished. Other betterknown examples are LASER (=light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation); UNESCO (United Nations Education and Science Organization). Not all of the means of word coinage existing in the English language have been dealt

with in this short survey. The reason for this is simple: in stylistics there are ways and means of producing an effect, which attract the attention of the reader not only by the novelty of a coinage but by a more elaborate language effect. This effect must be specified to make clear the intentions of the writer. The writer in this case is seeking something that will adequately convey his idea to the mind of the reader. The means assume some additional force: novelty+force. Therefore in the survey of the means of word formation only those have been selected which provide novelty force. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.69-96). SPECIAL COLLOQUIAL VOCABULARY a) Slang There is hardly any other term that is as ambiguous and obscure as the term slang. Slang seems to mean everything that is below the standard of usage of present-day English. Much has been said and written about it. This is probably due to the uncertainty of the concept itself. No one has yet given a more or less satisfactory definition of the term. Nor has it been specified by any linguist who deals with the problem of the English vocabulary. The first thing that strikes the scholar is the fact that no other European language has singled out a special layer of vocabulary and named it slang, though all of them distinguish such groups of words as jargon, cant, and the like. Why was it necessary to invent a special term for something that has not been clearly defined as jargon or cant have? Is this phenomenon specifically English? Has slang any special features, which no other group within the non-literary vocabulary can lay claim to? The distinctions between slang and other groups of unconventional English, though perhaps subtle and sometimes difficult to grasp, should nevertheless be subjected to a more detailed linguistic specification. Webster's "New World Dictionary of the American Language" gives the following meanings of the term: "1. originally, the specialized vocabulary and idioms of criminals, tramps, etc. the purpose of which was to disguise from outsiders the meaning of what was said; now usually called cant. 2. the specialized vocabulary and idioms of those in the same work, way of life, etc.; now usually called shop-talk, argot, jargon. 3. colloquial language that is outside of conventional or standard usage and consists of both coined words (blurb, whoopoee) and those with Hew or extended meanings (rubberneck, sap); slang develops from the attempt to find fresh and vigorous,

colourful, pungent, or humorous expression, and generally either passes into disuse or comes to have a more formal status." The "New Oxford English Dictionary" defines slang as follows: "a) the special vocabulary used by any set of persons of a low or disreputable character; language of a low and vulgar type. (Now merged in c. /cant/) b) the cant or jargon of a certain class or period; c) language of a highly colloquial type considered as below the level of standard educated speech, and consisting either of new words or of current words employed in some special sense." As is seen from these quotations slang is represented both as a special vocabulary and as a special language. This is the first thing that causes confusion. If this is a certain lexical layer, then why should it be given the rank of language? If, on the other hand, slang is a certain language or a dialect or even a patois, then it should be characterized not only by its peculiar use of words but also by phonetic, morphological and syntactical peculiarities. J. B. Greenough and C. L. Kitteridge define slang in these words: "Slang... is a peculiar kind of vagabond language, always hanging on the outskirts of legitimate speech but continually straying or forcing its way into the most respectable company." Another definition of slang, which is worthwhile quoting is one made by Eric Partridge, the eminent student of the non-literary language. "Slang is much rather a spoken than a literary language. It originates, nearly always, in speech. To coin a term on a written page is almost inevitably to brand it as a neologism which will either be accepted or become a nonce-word (or-phrase), but, except in the rarest instances that term will not be slang." The attitude of many Englishmen towards the thing called slang is also revealed in the fact that it is assigned to the class of so-called social evils together with drunkenness, prostitution and the use of narcotics. In most of the dictionaries (slang) is used as convenient stylistic notation for a word or a phrase that cannot be specified more exactly. The obscure etymology of the term itself affects its use as a stylistic notation. Whenever the notation appears in a dictionary it may serve as an indication that the unit presented is non-literary, but not pinpointed. That is the reason why the various dictionaries disagree in the use of this term when applied as a stylistic notation. The following stylistic layers of words are generally marked as slang. 1. Words which may be classed as thieves' cant, or the jargons of other social groups and professions, like dirt (= 'money'), dotty (= 'mad'), a barker (= 'a gun'), to dance (= 'to hang'). 2.

Colloquial words and phrases like for good, to have a hunch, a show (at the theatre) and the like. It is indeed sometimes impossible to distinguish between a colloquial word and one, which we shall agree to call a jargonism or a professionalism, or one belonging to any other of the non-literary layers. Therefore such borderline words which have the transitional characteristics of two neighbouring groups, as colloquial and/or professional; colloquial or dialectal and the like. There is a general objection to the use of a term that can be applied indiscriminately to any unit, which cannot otherwise be characterized. Thus such words as chink ('money'), fishy ('suspicious'), hum ('humbug'), governor ('father') and many other words and phrases are in some dictionaries given with two stylistic notations, coll. and/or sl. 3. Figurative words and phrases are not infrequently regarded as slang and included in special slang dictionaries, e. g. Scrooge (== 'a mean person'); shark (= 'a pickpocket', 'a swindler'); blackcoat (='a clergyman'). 4. Words derived by means of conversion, one of the most productive means of wordbuilding in present day English, are also sometimes classed as slang, for example, the noun agent is considered neutral because it has no stylistic notation, whereas the verb to agent is included in one of the American dictionaries of slang. It is the same with such pairs as altar - to altar, ancient (a) - ancient (n). 5. Abbreviations of the lab-type, for example, rep (reputation), cig (cigarette), ad (advertisement), as well as of the flu-type (influenza). It is worthy of note that such very commonly used abbreviations as sis (sister), ma (mama), also fall into the category of slang. 6. Set expressions which are generally used in colloquial speech and which are clearly colloquial, are also marked with the notation slang, e. g., to go in for, to cut off with a shilling, in a way, and many others. 7. Improprieties of a morphological and syntactical character, e. g., How come, I says, double negatives as / don't know nothing and others of this kind. 8. Any new coinage that has not gained recognition and therefore has not yet been received into Standard English is easily branded as slang. The Times of the 12th of March, 1957 gives the following illustrations of slang: leggo ('let go'), sarge ('sergeant'), 'I've got a date with that Miss Morris to night'. But it is obvious that 'leggo' is a phonetic impropriety caused by careless rapid speaking; sarge is a vulgar equivalent of the full form of the word; date is a widely recognized colloquial equivalent (synonym) of the literary and even bookish rendez-vous ('a meeting'). These different and heterogeneous phenomena united under the vague term slang cause natural confusion and do not

encourage scholars to seek more objective criteria in order to distinguish the various stylistic layers of the English colloquial vocabulary. The confusion is made still deeper by the fact that any word or expression apparently legitimate, if used in an arbitrary, fanciful or metaphorical sense, may easily be labeled as slang. Many words formerly labeled as slang have now become legitimate units of Standard English. Thus the word kid (= 'child'), which was considered low slang in the nineteenth century, is now a legitimate colloquial unit of the English literary language. Some linguists, when characterizing the most conspicuous features of slang, point out that it requires continuous innovation. It never grows stale. If a slang word or phrase does become stale, it is replaced by a new slangism. It is claimed that this satisfies the natural desire for fresh, newly created words and expressions, which give to an utterance emotional colouring and a subjective evaluation. Indeed, it seems to be in correspondence with the traditional view of English conservatism, that a special derogative term should have been coined to help preserve the "purity of Standard English" by hindering the penetration into it .of undesirable elements. The point is that the heterogeneous nature of the term serves as a kind of barrier, which checks the natural influx of word coinages into the literary language. True, such barriers are not without their advantage in polishing up the literary language. This can be proved by the progressive role played by any conscious effort to sift innovations, some of which are indeed felt to be unnecessary, even contaminating elements in the body of the language. In this respect the American newspaper may serve as an example of how the absence of such a sifting process results in the contamination of the literary tongue of the nation with ugly redundant coinages. Such a barrier however sometimes turns into an obstacle, which hinders the natural development of the literary language. The term slang, which is widely used in English linguistic science, should be clearly specified if it is to be used as a term, i. e. it should refer to some definite notion and should be definable in explicit, simple terms. It is suggested here that the term "slang" should be used for those forms of the English language which are either mispronounced or distorted in some way phonetically, morphologically or lexically. The term "slang" should also be used to specify some elements, which may be called over-colloquial. As for the other groups of words hitherto classified as slang, they should be specified according to the universally accepted classification of the vocabulary of a language. But this must be done by those whose mother tongue is English. They, and they only, being native speakers of the

English language, are its masters and lawgivers. It is for them to place slang in its proper category by specifying its characteristic features. Slang is nothing but a deviation from the established norm at the level of the vocabulary of the language. V. V. Vinogradov writes that one of the tasks set before the branch of linguistic science that is now called stylistics, is a thorough study of all changes in vocabulary, set phrases, grammatical constructions, their functions, an evaluation of any breaking away from the established norm, and classification of mistakes and failures in word coinage. H. Wentworth and S. Flexner in their "Dictionary of American Slang" write: "Sometimes slang is used to escape the dull familiarity of standard words, to suggest an escape from the established routine of everyday life. When slang is used, our life seems a little fresher and a little more personal. Also, as at all levels of speech, slang is sometimes used for the pure joy of making sounds, or even for a need to attract attention by making noise. The sheer newness and informality of certain slang words produce pleasure. "But more important than this expression of a more or less hidden aesthetic motive on the part of the speaker is the slang's reflection of the personality, the outward, clearly visible characteristics of the speaker. By and large, the man who uses slang is a forceful, pleasing, acceptable personality." This quotation from a well-known scientific study of slang clearly shows that what is labeled slang is either all kinds of nonceformations-so frequently appearing in lively everyday speech and just as quickly disappearing from the language-, or jocular words and word combinations that are formed by using the various means of word-building existing in the language and also by distorting the form or sense of existing words. Here are some more examples of words that are considered slang: to lake stock in (= 'to be interested in, attach importance, give credence to') bread-basket (= 'the stomach' a jocular use) to do a flit (= 'to quit one's flat or lodgings at night without paying the rent or board') rot (= 'nonsense!') the cat's pyjamas (= 'the correct thing') So broad is the term slang, that, according to Eric Partridge, there are many kinds of slang, e. g., Cockney, public-house, commercial, society, military, theatrical, parliamentary and others. This leads the author to believe that there is also a standard slang, the slang that is common to all those who, though employing received standard in their writing and speech, also use an informal language which, in fact, is no language but merely a way of speaking, using special words and phrases in some special sense. The most confusing definition of the nature of slang is the following one given by Partridge. "...personality and one's

surroundings (social or occupational) are the two co-efficients, the two chief factors, the determining causes of the nature of slang, as they are of language in general and of style." According to this statement language, style and slang all have the same nature, the same determining causes. Personality and surroundings determine: 1. the nature of the slang used by a definite person, 2. the nature of the language he uses, 3. the kind of style he writes. There is a general tendency in England and to some extent in the USA to over-estimate the significance of slang by attaching to it more significance than it deserves. Slang is regarded as the quintessence of colloquial speech and therefore stands above all the laws of grammar. Though it is regarded by some purists as a language that stands below Standard English, it is highly praised nowadays as "vivid", "more flexible", "more picturesque", "richer in vocabulary" and so on. Unwittingly one arrives at the idea that slang, as used by English and Americans, is a universal term for any word or phrase, which, though not yet recognized as a fact of Standard English, has won general recognition as a fresh innovation quite irrespective of its nature: whether it is cant, jargon, dialect, jocular or a pure colloquialism. It is therefore important, for the sake of a scientific approach to the problem of a stylistic classification of the English vocabulary, to make a more exact discrimination between heterogeneous elements in the vocabulary, no matter how difficult it may be. The following is an interesting example illustrating the contrast between Standard English and non-literary English including slang. In the story "By Courier" O.Henry opposes neutral and common literary words to special colloquial words and slang for a definite stylistic purpose, viz. to distort a message by translating the literary vocabulary of one speaker into the non-literary vocabulary of another. "Tell her I am on my way to the station, to leave for San Francisco, where I shall join that Alaska moose hunting expedition. Tell her that, since she has commanded me neither to speak nor to write to her, I take this means of making one last appeal to her sense of justice, for the sake of what has been. Tell her that to condemn and discard one who has not deserved such treatment, without giving him her reason or a chance to explain is contrary to her nature as I believe it to be." This message was delivered in the following manner: "He told me to tell yer he's got his collars and cuffs in dat, grip for a scoot clean out to 'Frisco. Den he's goin' to shoot snowbirds in de Klondike. He says yer told him to send 'round no more pink notes nor come hangin' over de garden gate, and he takes dis mean (sending the boy to speak for him.- (I. G.) of putting yer wise. He says yer referred to him like a has-

been, and never give him no chance to kick at de decision. He says yer swiled him and never said why." The contrast between what is Standard English and what is crude, broken nonliterary or uneducated American English has been achieved by means of setting the common literary vocabulary and also the syntactical design of the original message against jargonisms, slang and all kinds of distortions of forms, phonetic, morphological, lexical and syntactical. b) Jargonisms. In the non-literary vocabulary of the English language there is a group of words that are called jargonisms. Jargon is a recognized term for a group of words that exists in almost every language and whose aim is to preserve secrecy within one or another social group. Jargonisms are generally old words with entirely new meanings imposed on them. The traditional meaning of the words is immaterial, only the new, improvised meaning is of importance. Most of the jargonisms of any language, and of the English language too, are absolutely incomprehensible to those outside the social group, which has invented them. They may be defined as a code within a code, that is special meanings of words that are imposed on the recognized code - the dictionary meaning of the words. Thus the word grease means 'money'; loaf means 'head'; a tiger hunter is 'a gambler'; a lexer is 'a student preparing for a law course'. Jargonisms are social in character. They are not regional. In England and in the USA almost any social group of people has its own jargon. The following jargons are well known in the English language: the jargon of thieves and vagabonds, generally known as cant; the jargon of jazz people; the jargon of the army, known as military slang; the jargon of sportsmen and many other varieties. The various jargons (which, in fact, are nothing but a definite group of words) remain a foreign language to the outsiders of any particular social group. It is interesting in connection with this to quote a stanza from "Don Juan" by Byron where the poet himself finds it necessary to explain the meaning of the jargonisms he has used for definite stylistic purposes. "He from the world had cut off a great man, Who in his time had made heroic bustle. Who in a row like Tom could lead the van, Booze in the ken1, or at the spellken hustle? Who queer a flat? Who (spite of Bow street's ban) On the high toby-spice so flash the muzzle?

Who on a lark, with black-eyed Sal (his blowing) So prime, so swell, so nutty, and so knowing?" The explanation of the words used here was made by Byron's editor because they were all jargonisms in Byron's time and no one would understand their meaning unless they were explained in normal English. 1 ken=a house which harbours thieves 2 spellken=a play-house or theatre 3 to queer a flat==to puzzle a silly fellow 4 to flash the muzzle (gun) on the high toby-spice=to rob on horse back 6 a lark=fun or sport of any kind 11 a blowing=a girl 7 swell=gentlemanly 8 nutty= pleasing (to be nuts on=to be infatuated with) Byron wrote the following ironic comment to this stanza: "The advance of science and of language has rendered it unnecessary to translate the above good and true English, spoken in its original purity by the select nobility and their patrons. The following is a stanza of a song, which was very popular, at least in my early days: "On the high toby-spice flash the muzzle, In spite of each gallows old scout; If you at all spellken can't hustle, You'll be hobbled in making a Clout. Then your Blowing will wax gallows haughty, When she hears of your scaly mistake, She'll surely turn snitch for the forty That her Jack may be regular weight." If there be any gemman (= gentleman) so ignorant as to require a traduction, I refer him to my old friend and corporeal pastor and master, John Jackson, Esq., Professor of pugilism; who, I trust, still retains the strength and symmetry of his model of a form, together with his good humour and athletic as well as mental accomplishments." Slang, contrary to jargon, needs no translation. It is not a secret code. It is easily understood by the English-speaking community and is only regarded as something not quite regular. It must also be remembered that both jargon and slang differ from ordinary language mainly in their vocabularies. The structure of the sentences

and the morphology of the language remain practically unchanged. But such is the power of words, which are the basic and most conspicuous element in the language, that we begin unwittingly to speak of a separate language. Jargonisms do not always remain the possession of a given social group. Some of them migrate into other social strata and sometimes become recognized in the literary language of the nation. G. H. McKnight writes: "The language of the underworld provided words facetiously adopted by the fashionable world, many of which, such as fan and queer and banter and bluff and sham and humbug, eventually made their way into dignified use." There are hundreds of words, once Jargonisms or slang, which have become legitimate members of the English literary language. Jargonisms have their definite place of abode and are therefore easily classified according to the social divisions of the given period. Almost any calling has its own jargon, i. e. its set of words with which its members intersperse their speech and render it incomprehensible to outsiders. Some linguists even maintain that: "Within the limits of any linguistic unity there are as many languages as there are groups of people thrown together by propinquity and common interests." This is, of course, an overstatement. First of all, one should not mix up such notions as language and vocabulary. True, unknown words and phrases, if too many, may render speech unintelligible. But this fact does not raise speech to the level of a different language. It is better to make use here of the theory of the invariant and variants of the language, the invariant being what is called Standard English and the variants - all kinds of deviations particularly in vocabulary which do not break away from the traditional system of the language. Jargonisms however, do break away from the accepted norms of semantic variants of words. They are a special group within the non-literary layer of words. There is a common jargon and special professional jargons. Common Jargonisms have gradually lost their special quality, which is to promote secrecy and keep outsiders in the dark. In fact, there are no outsiders where common jargon is concerned. It belongs to all social groups and is therefore, easily understood by everybody. That is why it is so difficult to draw a hard and fast line between slang and jargon. When a jargonism becomes common, it has passed on to a higher step on the ladder of word groups and becomes slang or colloquial. Here are some further examples of jargon: Piou-Piou -'a French soldier, a private in the infantry'. According to Eric Partridge this word has already passed from military jargon to ordinary colloquial speech. Hummen-'a false arrest' (American) Dar- {from

damned average raiser) -'a persevering and assiduous student'. (University jargon) Matlo(w) - 'a sailor' (from the French word 'matelot) Man and wife 'a knife' (rhyming slang) Manany - 'a sailor who is always putting off a job of work' (nautical jargon) (from the Spanish word manand - 'to-morrow') The word brass in the meaning of 'money in general, cash' is not jargon inasmuch as there is an apparent semantic connection between 'the general name for all alloys of copper with tin or zinc' and cash. The metonymic ties between the two meanings prevent the word from being used as a special code word. The same can be said of the words Joker (='something used to play a trick or win one's point or object with' from card-playing); drag (== 'to rob vehicles'); to soap-box (= 'to make speeches out-of-doors standing on a soap-box'). These are easily understood by native speakers and therefore fail to meet the most indispensable property of jargon words. They are slang-words or perhaps colloquial. On the other hand, such words as soap and flannel meaning 'bread' and 'cheese' (naval), and some of the words mentioned above are scarcely likely to be understood by the language community. Only those who are in the know understand such words. Therefore they can be classed as jargonisms. It will not come amiss to mention here the words of Vandryes, a well-known French linguist, who said that "...jargon distorts words, it does not create them." Indeed, the creation of really new words is a very rare process. In almost any language you can find only a few entirely new words. It is not accidental, therefore, that the efforts of some poets to coin completely new words have proved to be a complete failure, their attempts being utterly rejected by the language community. In passing, we must remark that both slang and the various jargons of Great Britain differ much more from those of America (the United States and Canada) than the literary language in the two countries does. In fact, the most striking difference is to be observed in the non-literary layer of words and particularly in slang and jargonisms and professionalisms.. "American slang," remarks G. H. McKnight, "on the whole remains a foreign language to the Englishman. American plays such as "Is zat so" and American novels such as "Babbitt" have had to be provided with glossaries in order to be intelligible in England. John Galsworthy in his recent novel "The Silver Spoon" makes a naturalistic use of colloquial idiom. He exhibits the rich element of native slang in the colloquial speech of England." Jargonisms, like slang and other groups of the non-literary layer, do not always remain on the outskirts of the literary language. Many words have overcome the

resistance of the language lawgivers and purists and entered the standard vocabulary. Thus the words kid, fun, queer, bluff, fib, humbug, formerly slang words or jargonisms, are now considered common colloquial. They may be said to be dejargonized. The tendency to hide the true meaning of a jargonism explains not only the process of distorting words but also another source of jargonisms in the English language, viz. foreign words. Thus words like twig (== 'to understand' of Irish origin and from (== 'a girl or wife' from German 'frau') are considered jargonisms, but they may find their way into legitimate use and thus acquire the rank of elements of the Standard English vocabulary, first colloquial and then, in due time, neutral. c) Professionalisms, as the term itself signifies, are the words used in a definite trade, profession or calling by people connected by common interests both at work and at home. They commonly designate some working process or implement of labour. Professionalisms are correlated to terms. Terms, as has already been indicated, are coined to nominate new concepts that appear in the process of, and as a result of, technical progress and the development of science. Professional words name anew already-existing concepts, tools or instruments, and have the typical properties of a special code. The main feature of a professionalism is its technicality. Professionalisms are special words in the nonliterary layer of the English vocabulary, whereas terms are a specialized group belonging to the literary layer of words. Terms, if they are connected with a field or branch of science or technique well known to ordinary people, are easily decoded and enter the neutral stratum of the vocabulary. Professionalisms generally remain in circulation within a definite community, as they are linked to a common occupation and common social interests. The semantic structure of the term is usually transparent and is, therefore, easily understood. The semantic structure of a professionalism is often dimmed by the image on which the meaning of the professionalism is based, particularly when the features of the object in question reflect the process of the work, metaphorically or metonymically. Like terms, professionalisms do not allow any polysemy, they are monosemantic. Here are some professionalisms used in different trades: tin-fish (== 'submarine'); block-buster (= 'a bomb especially designed to destroy blocks of big buildings'); piper (='a specialist who decorates pastry with the use of a creampipe'); a midder case (='a midwifery case'); outer (== 'a knockout blow').

Some professionalisms, however, like certain terms, become popular and gradually lose their professional flavour. Thus the word crane which Byron used in his "Don Juan"... was a verb meaning 'to stretch out the neck like a crane before a dangerous leap' (in hunting, in order to 'look before you leap'). Now, according to Eric Partridge, it has broadened its meaning and is used in the sense of 'to hesitate at an obstacle, a danger'. By 1860 it was no more a professionalism used in hunting but had become a colloquial word of the non-literary stratum and finally, since 1890, entered the Standard English vocabulary. "No good craning at it. Let's go down." (Galsworthy) Professionalisms should not be mixed up with jargonisms. Like slang words, professionalisms do not aim at secrecy. They fulfill a socially useful function in communication, facilitating a quick and adequate grasp of the message. Good examples of professionalisms as used by a man-of-letters can be found in Dreiser's "Financier." The following passage is a good illustration. "Frank soon picked up all the technicalities of the situation. A "bull", he learned, was one who bought in anticipation of a higher price to come; and if he was "loaded" up with a "line" of stocks he was said to be "long". He sold to "realize" his profit, or if his margins were exhausted he was "wiped out". A "bear" was one who sold stocks, which most frequently he did not have, in anticipation of a lower price at which he could buy and satisfy his previous sales. He was "short" when he had sold what he did not own, and he was "covered" when he bought to satisfy his sales and to realize his profits or to protect himself against further loss in the case prices advanced instead of declining. He was in a "corner" when he found that he could not buy in order to make good the stock he had borrowed for delivery and the return of which had been demanded. He was then obliged to settle practically at a price fixed by these to whom he and other "shorts" had sold." As is seen, each financial professionalism is explained by the author and the words themselves are in inverted commas to stress their peculiar idiomatic sense and also to indicate that the words do not belong to the Standard English vocabulary in the meanings they are used. There are certain fields of human activity, which gain a nation-wide interest and popularity. This, for example, is the case in Great Britain where sports and games are concerned. English pugilistic terminology, for example, has gained particularly wide recognition and therefore is frequently used in a transferred meaning, thus adding to the general image-building function of emotive prose. Here is an example of the use of such professionalisms

in fiction. "Father Knickerbocker met them at the ferry giving one a right-hander on the nose and the other an uppercut with his left just to let them know that the fight was on." This is from a story by O. Henry called "The Duel" in which the writer depicts two characters who came from the West to conquer New York. The vocabulary of boxing (right-hander, uppercut}, as well as other professional terms found in the story, like ring, to counter, to clinch, etc., help to maintain the atmosphere of a fight, which the story requires. Professionalisms are used in emotive prose to depict the natural speech of a character. The skilful use of a professional word will show not only the vocation of a character, but also his education, breeding, environment and sometimes even his psychology. That is why perhaps a literary device known speech-characterization is so abundantly used in emotive prose. The use of professionalisms forms the most conspicuous element of this literary device. An interesting article was published in the Canadian Globe and Mail, which the author shows how a journalist who mocks at the professionalisms in the language of municipal planners, which render their speech almost incomprehensible, himself uses words and expressions unintelligible to the lay reader. Here is the article. JOURNALESE I was glad to read recently how incomprehensible the language of city planners is to newspapermen. I decided to call the author of the article and express my appreciation: "Hello, I'd like to speak to a reporter of yours named Terrance Wills." "Is he on city side or the night rewrite desk?" "I'm not sure. Maybe he's at his type-writer." The operator said something under his breath and then connected me to the third assistant executive city editor. After about 15 minutes of this I was finally able to communicate directly with Mr. Wills: "That was a great story you did on 'plannerese', sir," I told him. "Where did you get the idea for it?" "Why, I just went to the morgue one day when there weren't many obits to do and I got a few clippings. Then I talked with the copy-editor and he gave me a Si-point italic headline with an overhanging deck." "It that good?" "Sure it is. Even a cub knows that. Well I wrote a couple of takes and got it in the box just before the deadline for the second night final edition." "Is that hard to do?" I asked. My head was beginning to ache. "What? Sure, I guess. Listen, I'd like to discuss this with you further but I'm on the rewrite desk and my legman is going to be calling in a scoop any minute now. Good-bye." I sat there with the phone in my hand, thankful that in this complex age the journalists are still preserving simple English.

d) Dialectal Words This group of words is obviously opposed to the other groups of the non-literary English vocabulary and therefore its stylistic functions can be more or less clearly defined. Dialectal words are those, which in the process of integration of the English national language remained beyond its literary boundaries, and their use is generally confined to a definite locality. We exclude here what are called social dialects or even the still looser application of the term as in expressions like poetical dialect or styles as dialects. With reference to this group there is a confusion of terms, particularly between the terms dialectal, slang and vernacular. In order to ascertain the true value and the stylistic functions of dialectal words it is necessary to look into their nature. For this purpose a quotation from Cecil Wyld's "History of Modern Colloquial English" will be to the point. "The history of a very large part of the vocabulary of the present-day English dialects is still very obscure, and it is doubtful whether much of it is of any antiquity. So far very little attempt has been made to sift the chaff from the grain in that very vast receptacle of the English Dialect Dictionary, and to decide which elements are really genuine 'corruptions' of words, which the yokel has heard from educated speakers, or read, misheard, or misread, and ignorantly altered, and adopted, often with a slightly twisted significance. Probably many hundreds of 'dialect' words are of this origin, and have no historical value whatever, except inasmuch as they illustrate a general principle in the modification of speech. Such words are not, as a rule, characteristic of any Regional Dialect, although they may be ascribed to one of these, simply because some collector of dialect forms has happened to hear them in a particular area. They belong rather to the category of 'mistakes' which any ignorant speaker may make, and which such persons do make, again and again, in every part of the country." We are not concerned here with the historical aspect of dialectal words. For our purpose it will suffice to note that there is a definite similarity of functions in the use of slang, cockney and any other form of non-literary English and that of dialectal words. All these groups when used in emotive prose are meant to characterize the speaker as a person of a certain locality, breeding, education, etc. There is sometimes a difficulty in distinguishing dialectal words from colloquial words. Some dialectal words have become so familiar in good colloquial or standard colloquial English that they are universally accepted as recognized units of the standard colloquial English. To these words belong lass, meaning 'a girl or a

beloved girl' and the corresponding lad, 'a boy or a young man', daft from the Scottish and the northern dialect, meaning of unsound mind, 'silly'; fash also Scottish, with the meaning of 'trouble, cares'. Still they have not lost their dialectal associations and therefore are used in literary English with the above-mentioned stylistic function of characterization. Of quite a different nature are dialectal words, which are easily recognized as corruptions of Standard English words, although etymologically they may have sprung from the peculiarities of certain dialects. The following words may serve as examples: hinny from honey; tittle apparently from sister, being a childish corruption of the word; cutty meaning a 'testy or naughty girl or woman'. Most of the examples so far quoted come from the Scottish and the northern dialect. This is explained by the fact that Scotland has struggled to retain the peculiarities of her language, claiming it to be independent. Therefore many of the words fixed in dictionaries as dialectal are of Scottish origin. Among other dialects used for stylistic purposes in literature is the southern dialect (in particular that of Somersetshire). This dialect has a phonetic peculiarity that distinguishes it from other dialects, viz. initial [s] and [f] are voiced, and are written in the direct speech of characters as [z] and [v], for example: 'volk' (folk), 'vound' (found), 'zee' (see), 'zinking' (sinking). To show how the truly dialectal words are intermingled with all kinds of improprieties of speech, it will be enough to quote the following excerpt from Galsworthy's "A Bit of Love." "Mrs. Burlacomble: Zurely! I give 'im a nummit afore 'e gets up; an' 'e 'as 'is brekjus reg'lar at nine. Must feed un up. He'm on 'is feet all day, goin' to zee folk that widden want to zee an angel, they'm that busy; an' when 'e comes in 'e 'II play 'is flute there. He'm wastin away for want of 'is wife. That's what'tis. On' 'im so zweef-spoken, tu, 'tis a pleasure to year' im - Never zays a word!" Dialectal words are only to be found in the style of emotive prose, very rarely in other styles. And even here their use is confined to the function of characterizing personalities through their speech. Perhaps it would not be a false supposition to suggest that if it were not for the use of the dialectal words in emotive prose they would have already disappeared entirely from the English language. The unifying tendency of the literary language is so strong that language elements used only in dialect are doomed to vanish except, perhaps those which, because of their vigour and beauty, have withstood the integrating power of the written language. Writers, who use dialectal words for the purpose of characterizing the speech of a person in a piece of emotive prose or drama,

introduce them into the word texture in different ways. Some writers make an unrestrained use of dialectal words and also slang, jargonisms and professionalisms, not only in characterization, but also in their narrative. They mistake units of language, which have not yet established themselves in Standard English for the most striking features of modern English. An over-abundance of words and phrases of what we call non-literary English not only makes the reading difficult, but actually contaminates the generally accepted norms of the English language. Other writers use dialectal words sparingly, introducing only units, which are understandable to the intelligent English reader, or they make use of units, which they think will enrich the Standard English vocabulary. Among words, which are easily understood by the average Englishman are: maister, weel, eneugh, laird, naething and the like, characteristic of Scottish. Dialectal words, unlike professionalisms, are confined in their use to a definite locality and most of the words deal, as H. C. Wyld points out, with the everyday life of the country. "Such words will for the most part be of a more or less technical character, and connected with agriculture, horses, cattle and sport." e) Vulgar Words. The term vulgarism, as used to single out a definite group of words of non-Standard English, is rather misleading. Webster's "New International Dictionary" defines vulgarism as "A vulgar phrase or expression, or one used only in colloquial, or, esp., in unrefined or low, speech." Then follows the explanation, "A vulgarism is a phrase or expression which is in common, but in good, use; the word does not necessarily connote coarseness." The "Shorter Oxford Dictionary" defines vulgarism as "A vulgar phrase or expression; a colloquialism of a low or unrefined character." What is meant by good use in the definition given by the Webster's Dictionary remains unexplained. Particularly misleading is the phrase that the word does not necessarily connote coarseness. We shall define vulgarisms as expletives or swear words and obscene words and expressions. They have nothing to do with words in common use nor can they be classed as colloquialisms. There are different degrees of vulgar words. Some of them, the obscene ones should not even be fixed in common dictionaries. They are euphemistically called "four-letter" words. A lesser degree of vulgarity is presented by expletives, words like damn, bloody, son of a bitch, to hell, and others. These vulgarisms sometimes appear in a euphemistic spelling, viz. only the initial letter is printed: d- -(damn\) b--- (bloody). Sometimes they assume the form of a word, as in Galsworthy's "It's a bee nuisance." "It's bee weak-minded."

The function of vulgarisms is almost the same as that of interjections, that is to express strong emotions, mainly annoyance, anger, vexation and the like. They are not to be found in any style of speech except emotive prose, and here only in the direct speech of the characters. The language of the underworld is rich in coarse words and expressions. But not every expression, which may be considered coarse should be regarded as a vulgarism. Coarseness of expression may result from improper grammar, non-standard pronunciation, from the misuse of certain literary words and expressions, from a deliberate distortion of words. All these improprieties of speech cannot be regarded as vulgarisms. f) Colloquial Coinages (nonce-words), unlike those of a literary-bookish character, are spontaneous and elusive. This proceeds from the very nature of the colloquial words as such. Not all of the-colloquial nonce words are fixed in dictionaries or even in writing and therefore most of them disappear from the language leaving no trace in it whatsoever. Unlike literary-bookish coinages, nonce words of a colloquial nature are not usually built by means of affixes but are based on certain semantic changes in words that are almost imperceptible to the linguistic observer until the word finds its way into print. It is only a careful stylistic analysis of the utterance as the whole that will reveal a new shade of meaning inserted into the semantic structure of a given word or word combination. Writers often show that they are conscious of the specific character of the nonce words they use by various means. The following are illustrations of the deliberate use of a new word that either was already established in the language or that was in process of being established as such: "...besides, there is a tact (That modern phrase appears to me sad stuff. But it will serve to keep my verse compact). (Byron. "Don Juan") According to the Oxford Dictionary the meaning of the word tact used in these lines appeared in the English language in 1804. Byron, who keenly felt any innovation introduced into the literary language of his time, accepts it unwillingly. A similar case in which a writer makes use of a newly invented colloquial expression, evidently strongly appreciating its meaning, may be noticed in "In Chancery", where Galsworthy uses to be the limit in the sense of 'to be unbearable' and comments on it. "Watching for a moment of weakness she wrenched it free; then placing the dining-table between them, said between her teeth: You are the limit, Monty." (Undoubtedly the inception of this phrase -- so is English formed under the stress of circumstance.) New expressions, accepted by men-of-letters and

commented on in one way or another are not literary coinages but colloquial ones. New literary coinages will always bear the brand of individual creation and will therefore have more or less precise semantic boundaries. The meaning of literary coinages can easily be grasped by the reader because of the use of the productive means of word building, and also from the context, of course. This is not the case with colloquial nonce words. The meaning of these new creations creeps into wellknown words imperceptibly. One hardly notices the process leading to the appearance of a new meaning. Therefore, colloquial nonce-formations are actually not new words but new meanings of existing words. True, there are some words that are built with the help of affixes, but these are few and they are generally built with the most common suffixes or prefixes of the English language, which have no shade of bookishness, as -er, -al, un-, and the like. New coinage in colloquial English awakens as emphatic a protest on the part of literary-conscious people as do nonce-words in literary English. Here is an interesting quotation from an article in The New York Times Magazine: "Presently used to mean "at the present moment' but became so completely coloured with idea of 'in the near future' that when its older meaning came back into general use after World War II, through reintroduction into civilian speech of the conservative military meaning, many people were outraged and insisted that the old meaning was being corrupted whereas, in fact, the 'corruption' was being purged. Human nature being what it is, and promptness ever behind promise, the chances are strong that the renewed meaning will fade. "Peculiar originally meant 'belonging exclusively to'. We still keep the older meaning in such statement as 'a custom peculiar to that country'. But by extension it came to mean 'uncommon' and thence 'odd' with the overtones of suspicion and mistrust that oddness moves us to." Some changes in meaning are really striking. What are called semantic changes in words have long been under the observation of both lexicologists and lexicographers. Almost every textbook on the study of words abounds in examples of words that have undergone such considerable changes in meaning that their primary meanings are almost lost. See the changes in the words nice, knave, marshal, fellow, for example. In some cases it is difficult to draw a line of demarcation between nonce words of bookish and of colloquial origin. Some words, which have undoubtedly sprung from the literary-bookish stratum have become popular in ordinary colloquial language and have acquired new meanings in their new environment. Bergan Evans, co-author of "A Dictionary of Contemporary Usage" in an article published

in The New York Times Book Review says, that "Words are living things. They grow, take roots, adapt to environmental changes like any plant or animal." This of course, should be taken as a metaphor. But in observing the changes of meaning that words may undergo, the comparison is really apt. The author shows how the word sophisticated, undoubtedly a word of bookish origin, has developed new meanings. Let us follow his trend of investigation. The word sophisticated originally meant 'wise'. Then, through its association with the Sophists, it came to mean 'over-subtle', 'marked by specious but fallacious reasoning', 'able to make the worse appear the better reason'. Then it developed the additional, derivative sense of 'adulterated', i. e. 'spoiled by admixture of inferior material'. This meaning naturally gave birth to a new shade of meaning, viz. 'corrupted'. Then suddenly (as Evans has it) the attitude implicit in the word was reversed; it ceased to mean unpleasantly wordly wise and came to mean admirably worldly-wise. For the past fifteen years sophistication has been definitely a term of praise. By 1958 in John O'Hara's "From the Terrace", sophistication had come to signify not "corruption" but almost the "irreducible minimum of good manners" Sudden alterations in meaning have frequently been observed in studies of semantic change. The unexpectedness of some of the changes is really striking and can be accounted for only by the shift of the sphere of usage from literary to colloquial. It is evidently the intonation pattern that brings forth the change. Perhaps the real cause of such changes is the ironic touch attached to the word sophistication and other words, which have undergone such an unexpected shift in meaning. It follows then that some nonce words and meanings may on the one hand acquire legitimacy and thus become facts of the language, while on the other hand they may be classified as literary or colloquial according to which of the meanings is being dealt with. The ways and means of semantic change are sometimes really mysterious. To use Evans's words, "some words go hog wild in meaning. The word sophisticated from its colloquial use denoting some passive quality started to mean 'delicately responsive to electronic stimuli', 'highly complex mechanically', 'requiring skilled control', 'extraordinarily sensitive in receiving, interpreting and transmitting signals'. Or at least that is what one must guess it means in such statements as "Modern rader is vastly more sophisticated than quaint, old-fashioned rader". (Time); later "the IL-18 is aeronautically more sophisticated than the giant TU114." "Pioneer V is exceedingly sophisticated." (Chicago Sunday Times) and

"The Antikythera mechanism is far more sophisticated than any described in classical scientific texts." (Scientific American)." Mr. Evans's article shows how unexpected changes in meaning may be, and how strangely literary and colloquial nonce-coinage may interweave. There is another feature of colloquial nonce-words which must not be overlooked. There are some, which enjoy hopeful prospects of staying in the vocabulary of the language. The nature of these creations is such that if they appear in speech they become noticeable and may develop into catch words. Then they become fixed as new colloquial coinages and cease to be nonce words. They have acquired anew significance and a new stylistic evaluation. They are then labelled as slang, colloquial, vulgar or something of this kind. Literary nonce words on the other hand may retain the label nonce for ever, as for example Byron's "weatherology." When a nonce word comes into general use and is fixed in dictionaries, it is classed as a neologism for a very short period of time. This shows the objective reality of contemporary life. Technical progress is so rapid that it builds new notions and concepts, which in their turn require new words to signify them. To label them neologisms would mislead the reader. Nonce-coinage appears in all spheres of life. Almost every calling has some favourite catch words which may live but a short time. They may become permanent and generally accepted terms, or they may remain nonce words, as for example hateships used by John O'Hara in "Ten North Frederic." Particularly interesting are the contextual meanings of words. They may rightly be called nonce-meanings. They are frequently used in one context only, and no traces of the meaning are to be found in dictionaries. Thus, the word opening in the general meaning of a way in the sentence "This was an opening and I followed it", is a contextual meaning which may or may not in the long run become one of the dictionary meanings. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.96-117). PRACTICAL EXERCISES Literary Stratum of Words Exercise I. State the type and the functions of archaisms. 1. I was surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a Stormy scene to poor Zillah, who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an indignant groan...

"Thou art the Man!" cried Jabes, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. "Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage-seventy times seven did I take council with my soul-Lo! this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The first of the seventy-first is come. Brethren - execute upon him the judgement written. Such honour has all His saints!" 2. Anon she murmured, "Guido"-and bewhiles a deep sigh rent her breast... She was begirt with allowing kirtle of deep blue, bebound with a belt, bebuckled with a silvern clasp, while about her waist a stomacher of point lace ended in a ruffled farthingale at her throat. On her head she bore a sugar-loaf hat shaped like an extinguisher and pointing backward at an angle of 45 degrees. "Guido," she murmured, "Guido." And erstwhile she would wring her hands as one distraught and mutter, "He cometh not." 3. "Odd Bodikins!" he roared, "but the tale is as rare as it is new! and so the wagoner said to the Pilgrim that he had asked him to pull him off the wagon at that town, put him off he must, albeit it was but the small of the night by St. Pancras whence hath the fellow so novel a tale? -nay, tell it me but once more, haply I may remember if-and the Baron fell back in a perfect paroxysm of merriment. 4. He kept looking at the fantastic green of the jungle and then at the orange-brown earth, febrile and pulsing as though the rain was cutting wounds into it. Ridges flinched before the power of it. The Lord giveth and He taketh away, Ridges thought solemnly. 5. If manners maketh man, then manner and grooming maketh poodle. 6. Anthony . . . clapped him affectionately on the back. "You're a real knight-errant. Jimmy," he said.7. "He of the iron garment," said Daigety, entering, "is bounden unto you, MacEagh, and this noble lord shall be bounden also." 8. "He had at his back a satchel, which seemed to contain a few necessaries, a hawking gauntlet on his left hand, though he carried no bird, and in his right hand a stout hunter's pole." Exercise II. Give the English equivalents, state the origin and stylistic purpose of barbarisms and foreign words. Pay attention to their interrelation with the context. 1. She caught herself criticizing his belief that, since his joke about trying to keep her out of the poorhouse had once been accepted as admirable humor, it should continue to be his daily bon mot. 2. Nevertheless, despite her experience, she hadn't yet reached the stage of thinking all men beastly; though 5he could readily sympathize with the state of mind of any woman driven to utter that particular cri de coeur. 3. Then, of course, there ought to be one or two outsiders-just to give the thing a bona fide appearance. I and Eileen could see to that-young people,

uncritical, and with no idea of politics. 4. "Tyree, you got half of the profits!" Dr. Bruce shouted. "You're my de facto partner." "What that de facto mean, Doc?.." "Papa, it means you a partner in fact and in law," Fishbelly told him. 5. Yates remained serious. "We have time, Herr Zippmann, to try your schnapps. Are there any German troops in Neustadt?" "No, Herr Offizier, that's just what I've to tell you. This morning, four gentlemen in all, we went out of Neustadt to meet the Herren Amerikaner." 6. And now the roof had fallen in on him. The first shock was over, the dust had settled and he could now see that his whole life was kaput. 7. "I never sent any telegram. What did it say?" "I believe it is still on the table labas," Elise retired, pounced upon it, and brought it to her mistress in triumph. "Voila, madame!" 8. When Danny came home from the army he learned that he was an heir and owner of property. The viejo, that is the grandfather, had died leaving Danny the two small houses on the Tortilla Flat. Exercise III. State the nature and role of the terms. 1. "... don't you go to him for anything more serious than a pendectomy of the left ear or a strabismus of the cardiograph." No one save Kennicott knew exactly what this meant, but they laughed. 2. "Good," Abbey said suddenly. He took up a specimen-it was an aneurism of the ascending aorta-and began in a friendly manner to question Andrew... "Do you know anything of the history of aneurism?" "Ambroise Pare," Andrew answered, and Abbey had already begun his approving nod, "is presumed to have first discovered the condition." 3. Philip Heatherhead, - whom we designate Physiological Philip - as he strolled down the lane in the glory of early June, presented a splendid picture of young manhood. By this we mean that his bony framework was longer than the average and that instead of walking like an ape he stood erect with his skull balanced on his spinal column in a way rarely excelled even in a museum. The young man appeared in the full glory of perfect health: or shall we say," to be more exact, that his temperature was 98, his respiration normal, his skin entirely free from mange, erysipelas and prickly heat... At a turn of path Philip suddenly became aware of a young girl advancing to meet him. Her Spinal column though shorter than his, was elongated and erect, and 10 Philip saw at once that she was not a chimpanzee. She wore no hat and the thick capillary growth that covered her cranium waved in the sunlight and fell low over her eye sockets. The elasticity of her step revealed not the slightest trace of apendicitis or locomotor ataxia, while all thought of eczema, measles or spotty discoloration was precluded by the smoothness and homogeneity of her skin. At the sight of Philip the

subcutaneous pigmentation of the girl's face underwent an intensification. At the same time the beating of the young man's heart produced in his countenance also a temporary inflammation due to an underoxydization of the tissues of his face. They met, and their hands instinctively clasped by an interadjustment of the bones known only in mankind and the higher apes but not seen in the dog... Philip drew the girl's form towards him till he had it close to his own form, and parallel to it, both remaining perpendicular, and then bending the upper verterbrae of his spinal column forwards and sideways he introduced his face into a close proximity with hers. In this attitude, difficult to sustain for a prolonged period, he brought his upper and lower lips together, protruded them forward, and placed them softly against hers in a movement seen also in the orangoutang but never in the hippopotamus. 4. At noon the hooter and everything died. First, the pulley driving the punch and shears and emery wheels stopped its lick and slap. Simultaneously the compressor providing the blast for a dozen smith-fires went dead. Finally old Peter was left standing dead struck-as if it had never happened to him before, as if he wasn't an old miser for work-specifically, piece-work, always trying to knock the extra piece before the power went. 5. . . .he rode up to the campus, arranged for a room in the graduate dormitory and went at once to the empty Physics building. 6. "They're real!" he murmured. "My God, they are absolutely real!" Erik turned. "Didn't you believe that the neutron existed?" ' "Oh, I believed," Fabermacher shrugged away the phrase. "To me neutrons were symbols, n with a mass of m n =1.008. But until now I never saw them." Exercise IV. Define .the pattern of creation and the function of the following individual neologisms. 1. She was a young and unbeautiful woman. 2. I'll disown you, I'll disinherit you, I'll unget you! and damn me, if ever I call you back again! 3. (She was) waiting for something to happen. Or for everything to un-happen. 4. She was . . . doing duty of her waitresshood. 5. Every man in his hours of success, tasted godhood. 6. . . .tiny balls of fluff (chickens) passed on into semi-naked pullethood and from that into dead henhood. 7. His youngness and singlemindedness were obvious enough. 8. But Miss Golightly, a fragile eyeful, . . . appeared relatively unconcerned. 9. For a headful of reasons I refuse. 10. It is the middle of a weekday morning with a stateful of sand and mountains around him. 11. His father . . . installed justly to make little boys feel littler and stupid boys aware of their stupidity. 12. You are becoming tireder and tireder. 13. "I love you mucher." "Plenty mucher? Me tooer." 14. Oh, it was the killingest thing

you ever saw. 15. "Mr. Hamilton, you haven't any children, have you?" "Well, no. And I'm sorry about that, I guess. I'm sorriest about that." 16. Sometimes we are sleepy and fall asleep together in a corner, sometimes we are very hungry, sometimes we are a little frightened, but what is oftenest hard upon us is the cold. 17. You're goddamndest boy. 18. She's the goddamest woman I ever saw. 19. I've been asked to appear in Rostand's wonderful fairy play. Wouldn't it be nice if you Englished it for us? 20. So: I'm not just talented. I'm geniused. 21. There were ladies too . . . some of whom knew 12 Trilby, and thee'd and thou'd with familiar and friendly affection while others mademoiselle'd her with distant politeness and were mademoiselle'd and madame'd back again. 22. Mrs. Tribute "my deared" everybody, even things inanimate, such as the pump in the dairy. 23. A luxury hotel for dogs is to be opened at Lima, Peru, a city of 30,000 dogs. The furry guests will have separate hygienic kennels, top medical care and high standard cuisine, including the best bones. Also on hand at the "dogotel"-trees. 24. . . .the country became his Stepfatherland. 25. A college education is all too often merely sheepskindeep. Exercise V. Compare the neutral and the literary modes of expression. 1. "My children, my defrauded, swindled infants!" cried Mrs. Renwigs. 2. He turned round and . . . encountered . . . the joyous face of Mr. Lipman, the serene countenance of Mr.,Winkle, and the, intellectual lineaments of Mr. Shodgrass. 3. "I am Alpha and Omega,-the first and the last," the solemn voice would announce. 4. Twenty miles west of Tueson the "Sunset Express" stopped at a tank to take on water. Besides the aqueous addition the engine of that famous flyer acquired some other things that were not good for it. 5. . . .the famous Alderman who objected to the phrase in Canning's inscription for a Pitt Memorial "He died poor" and wished to substitute "He expired in indigent circumstances." 6. He is always in extremes; perpetually in the superlative degree. Colloquial Stratum of Words. Exercise 1. State the function of slang in the following examples, also paying attention to the morphological and syntactical characteristics of slang units and semantic and structural changes some of them underwent to become a slang expression. 1. "I'm the first one saw her. Out at Santa Anita she's hanging around the track every day. I'm interested: professionally. I find out she's some jock's regular, she's living with the shrimp, I get the jock told Drop it if he don't want conversation with the vice boys: see, the kid's fifteen. But stylish: she's okay, she

comes across. Even when she's wearing glasses this thick; even when she opens her mouth and you don't know if she's a hillbilly or an Okie or what, I still don't. My guess, nobody'll ever know where she came from. 2. Bejees, if you think you can play me for an easy mark, you've come/to the wrong house. No one ever played Harry Hope for a sucker! 3. A cove couldn't be too careful. 4. I've often thought you'd make a corking good actress. 5. "When he told me his name was Herbert I nearly burst out laughing. Fancy calling anyone Herbert. A scream, I call it." 6. I steered him into a side street where it was dark and propped him against a wall and gave him a frisk. 7. "I live upstairs." The answer seemed to explain enough to relax him. "You got the same layout?" "Much smaller." He tapped ash on the floor. "This is a dump. This is unbelievable. But the kid don't know how to live even when she's got the dough." 8. It is. But not so much the hope of booze, if you can believe that. I've got the blues and Hickey's a great one to make a joke of everything and cheer you up. 9. "George," she said, "you're a rotten liar. , . The part about the peace of Europe is all bosh." 10. She came in one night, plastered, with a sunburned man, also plastered . 11. "Your friend got stinko and Fane had to send out for a bouncer." 12. "That guy just aint hep," Mazzi said decisively. "He's as unhep as a box, I can't stand people who aint hep." Exercise II. Specify hackneyed vulgarisms and vulgarisms proper; determine the kind of emotion, which had caused their usage. 1. . . .a hyena crossed the open on his way around the hill. "That bastard crosses there every night," the man said. 2. Suddenly Percy snatched the letter . . . "Give it back to me, you rotten devil," Peter shouted. "You know damn well it doesn't say that. I'll kick your big fat belly. I swear I will." 3. "Look at the son of a bitch down there: pretending he's one of the boys today." 4. "How are you, Cartwright? This is the very devil of a business, you know. The very devil of a business." 5. "Poor son of a bitch," he said. "I feel for him, and I'm sorry I was bastardly." 6. I'm no damned fool! I couldn't go on believing forever that gang was going to change the world by shooting off their loud traps on soapboxes and sneaking around blowing up a lousy building or a bridge! I got wise, it was all a crazy pipe dream! Exercise III. Differentiate professional amid social jargonisms; classify them according to the narrow sphere of usage, suggest a terminological equivalent where possible: 1. She came out of her sleep in a nightmare struggle for breath, her eyes distended in horror, the strangling cough fearing her again and again . . . Bart gave her the needle. 2. I'm here quite often-taking patients to hospitals for majors, and so

on. 3. "I didn't know you knew each other," I said. "A long time ago it was," Jean said. "We did History Final together at Coll." 4. They have graduated from Ohio State together, himself with an engineering degree. 5. The arrangement was to keep in touch by runners and by walkie-talkie. 6. "Okay Top," he said. "You know I never argue with the First Sergeant." 7. Stark bought each one of them the traditional beer a new noncom always buys. 8. "All the men say I'm a good noncom ... for I'm fair and I take my job seriously." 9. "We stopped the attack on Paragon White B and C . . . Personally I think it was a feeler, and they're going; to try again to-night." 10. Dave: Karach . . . That's where I met Libby Dod-son ... Me and him were going to do everything together when we got back to Ciwy Street, . . I'll work as a chippy on the Colonel's farm. 11. "So you'll both come to dinner? Eight fifteen. Dinny, we must be back to lunch. Swallows!" added Lady Mont round the brim of her hat and passed out through the porch. "There's a houseparty," said Dinny to the young man's elevated eyebrows. "She means tails and a white tie." "Oh! Oh! Best bib and tucker, Jean." 12. "I think we've had enough of the metrop for the time being and require a change." 13. He learned his English as a waiter in Gib. 14. They can't dun you for bills after seven years, can they? 15. "How long did they cook you!" Dongere's stopped short and looked at him. "How long did they cook you?"- "Since eight this morning. Over twelve hours . .. . ."You didn't unbutton then? After twelve hours of i-t?" "Me? . . . They got a lot of dancing to do before they'll get anything out of me." 16. But, after all, he knows I'm preggers. Exercise IV. Observe the dialectal peculiarities of dialogue in the following examples; pay attention to changes in spelling caused by specific pronunciation. 1. "By the way, Inspector, did you check up that story of Ferguson's?" "Ferguson?" said the Inspector, in the resentful accents of a schoolboy burdened with too much homework. "Oo, ay, we havena forgot Ferguson. I went tae Sparkes of them remembered him weel enough. The lad doonstairs in the show-room couldna speak with cairtainty tae the time, but he recognized Ferguson from his photograph, as havin' brocht in a magneto on the Monday afternoon. He said Mr. Saunders wad be the man tae that, and pit a ca' through on the house telephone tae Mr. Sparkes, an' he had the young fellow in. Saunders is one o' they bright lads. He picked the photograph at once oot o' the six I showed him an' timed up the entry o' ithe magneto in the day-book." "Could he swear to the time Ferguson came in?" "He wadna charge his memory wi' the precise minute, but he had juist come in fra' his

lunch an' found Ferguson waitm' for him. His lunchtime is fra' 1.30 tae 2.30, but he was a bit late that day, ah' Ferguson had been waitin' on him a wee while. He thinks it wad be aboot ten minutes tae three." "That's just about what Ferguson made it." "Near enough." "H'm. That sounds all right. Was that all Saunders had to say?" "Ay. Forbye that he said he couldna weel understand whit had happened tae the magneto. He said it looked as though some yin had been daein' it a wilfu' damage." 2. "That's so, my Lord. I remember having tae du much the same thing, mony years since, in an inquest upon a sailing-vessel ran aground in the estuary and got broken up by bumping herself to bits in a gale. The insurance folk thocht that the accident wasna a'togither straightforwards. We ituk it upon oorselz tae demonstrate that wi' the wind and tide setti' as they did, the boat should ha' been well-away fra' the shore if they started at the hour they claimed tae ha' done. We lost the case, but I've never altered my opeenion." 3. "We'll show Levenford what my clever lass can do. I'm looking ahead, and. I can see it. When we've made ye the head scholar of Academy, then you'll see what your father means to do wi' you. But ye must stick in to your lessons, stick in hard." 4. I wad na been surpris'd to spy You on an auld wife' flainen toy: Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, On's wyliecoat. Exercise V. Comment on the structure and function of the standai colloquial words and expressions. 1. "Can we have some money to go to the show this at Daddy?" 2. "We Woosters are, all for that good old medieval hosp and all that, but when it comes to finding chappie collaring your bed, the thing becomes a trifle too mouldy. 3. "Officers' dance last night, Sir," this tech said . . "Congrats." 4. Winter garments surpassed even personal gossip as the topic at parties. It was good form to ask, "Put on your heavies yet?" 5. I was feeling about as cheerio as was possible under] the circs when a muffled voice hailed me from the northeast... 6. "What did Blake say about the pictures of Godfrey?" "About what I expected. He's pretty sure the man he tailed was Godfrey, but refuses to positively identify him from the pix." 7. "I was snooping round for news of you, when I connected with this dame. She wasn't at all what I thought she'd be-some swell naughty Society lady that'd scare the life out of me." 8. His expenses didn't go down . . . washing cost a packet and you'd be surprised the amount of linen he needed. 9. I was the biggest draw in London. At the old Aquarium, that was. All the swells came to see me ... I was the talk of the town. 10. "Say, what do you two think you're doing? Telling fortunes or making love? Let me warn you that the dog is a frisky bacheldore, Carol. Come on, now, folks, shake a leg. Let's have some stunts or a dance or something." 11. A

heart man told me I was going to die in six months. 12. "Hello, kid! Gee, you look cute, all right." 13. Mr. Marbury captured her with a loud, "Oh, quit fussing now. Come over here and sit down and tell us how's tricks." 14. "Say! You cut out o'this now before I. do something to you, do you hear? I'm not the one to let you pull this stuff on me ... Beat if before I do something to you, do you hear?" Exercise VI. Compare the neutral and colloquial (standard or with a limited range of application) modes of expression. 1. "Get on a little faster, put a little more steam on, Ma'am, pray." 2. "I gave him your story in the magazine. He was quite impressed . . But he says you're on the wrong track. Negroes and children: who cares?" "Not Mr. Berman, I gather. Well, I agree with him. I read that story twice: Brats and niggers." 3. "I do think the Scandinavian are the heartiest and best people-" "Oh, do you think so?" protested Mrs. Jackson Elder. "My husband says the Svenskas that work in the planing-mill are perfectly terrible-" 4. He tried these engineers, but no soap. No answer. 5. H: I'd have been elected easy. M: You would, Harry, it was a sure thing. A dead cinch. Harry, everyone knows that. 6. "Big-Hearted Harry. You want to know what I think? I think you're nuts. Pure plain crazy. Goofy as a loon. That's what I think." 7. There were . . . with a corner of the bar to themselves what I recognized at once to be a Regular Gang, a Bunch, a Set. 8. "I met a cousin of yours, Mr. Muskham."- "Jack?"-"Yes." "Last of the dandies. All the difference in the world, Dinny, between the 'buck', the 'dandy', the 'swell', the 'masher', the 'blood', the 'knut', and what's the last variety called-I never know. There's been a steady decrescendo. By his age Jack belongs to the masher' period, but his cut was always pure dandy." Exercise VII. Compare the literary and colloquial modes of expression. 1. "The scheme I would suggest cannot fail of success, but it has what may seem to you a drawback, sir, in that it requires a certain financial outlay." "He means," I translated to Corky, "that he has got a pippin of an idea but it's going to cost a bit." 2. "I say old boy, where do you hang out?" Mr. Pickwick responded that he was at present suspended at the George and Vulture. 3. "Prithee, give me some ham, piping hot, fragrant with the flavour of cloves, brown sugar and tasty sauce. Serve it between fresh slices of nourishing brown and buttered bread. And draw for your faithful servant a cup of aromatic coffee with cream that is rich and pure." The girl gave him a frigid glance and cried to the kitchen. "Pig on rye and Java with." 4. "Obviously an emissary of Mr. Bunyan had obtained clandestine access to her apartment in her absence and purloined the communications in question." It took

Lord Uffenham some moments to work this out, but eventually he unraveled it and was able to translate it from the butlerese. What the man was trying to say that some low blister, bought with Bunyan's gold, had sneaked into the girl's flat and pinched the bally things. 5. "Here she is," said Quilp , . . "there is the woman I ought to have married-there is the beautiful Sarah- there is the female who has all the charms of her sex and none of their weakness. Oh, Sally, Sally." 6. I need the stimulation of good company. He terms this riff-raff. The plain fact is, I am misunderstood. Exercise VIII. Analyse the vocabulary of the following; indicate the type and function of stylistically coloured units. 1. "What the hell made you take on a job like that?" "A regrettable necessity for cash. I can assure you doesn't suit my temperament." Jimmy grinned. "Never a hog for regular work, were you?" 2. "You'll probably see me at a loss for one to-night." "I bet. But you'll stick to me, won't you?" "Like a bloody leech, man." 3. At the counter of the Greek Confectionery Parlour, while they ate dreadful messes of decayed bananas, acid cherries, whipped cream, and gelatinous ice-cream, they screamed to one another: "Hey, lemme' lone," "Quit doggone you, looka what you went and done, you almost spilled my glass swater," "Like hell I did," "Heygol darn your hide, don't you go sticking your coffinh nail in my i-scream," "Oh you Batty, how juh like dancing with Tilly McGuire last night? Some squeezing, heh, kid?" 4. "Listen, you son of a bitch," he said feeling an icy calm 'that was a flaming rapture of abandon. "Keep your big yap away from me, or I'll sow it shut for you." 5. "Now that the g.d. war is over and you probably have a lot of time over there, how about sending the kids a couple of bayonets or Swastikas . . ." 6. Roma abandoned herself to the fascinations of the scene, and her gaiety infected everybody. "Camillo, you must tell me who they all are. There now those men who come first in black and red?" "Laymen," said the young Roman. "They're called the Apostolis Cursori. When a Cardinal is nominated they take him the news, and get two or three thousand francs for their trouble." "Good for them! And those fine fellows in tight black vestment like Spanish bullfighters?" "The Mazzieri! They carry the mace to clear the way.". "Go on, Camillo mio." "Those men in the long black robes are lawyers of the Apostolis palace." "And this dear old friar with the mittens and rosary and the comfortable linsey-woolsey sort of face?" "That's Father Pifferi of San Lorenzo,'confessor to the Pope. He knows all the Pope's sins ... He is a Capucin and those Frati in different colours coming behind him ..." "I know them: see if I

don't," she cried, as there passed under the balcony a double file of friars and monks nearly all alike fat, ungainly, flabby, puffy specimens of humanity, carrying torches of triple candles, and telling their beads as they walked." 7. "Nicholas, my dear, recollect yourself," remonstrated Mrs. Nickleby. "Dear Nicholas, pray," urged the young lady. "Hold your tongue, Sir," said Ralph. 8. When Mr. and Mrs. Sunbury went to bed on the night of Herbert's twenty-first birthday, and in passing I may say that Mrs. Sunbury never went to bed, she retired, but Mr. Sun Wry who was not quite so refined as his wife always said: "Me for Bedford". 9. There are many ways to do this and you learn most of them. But the jerks and 'twerps, the creeps and the squares and the strips flourish and seem, with the new antibiotics, to have attained a sort of creeping immortality, while people that you care for die publicly or anonymously each month. 10. "Now take fried, crocked, squiffed, loaded, plastered. blotto, tiddled, soaked, boiled, stinko, oiled, polluted." "Yes," I said. "That's the next set of words I am decreasing my vocabulary by," said Atherton. "Tossing them all out in favor of-" "Intoxicated," I supplied. "I favor drunk," said Atherton. "It's shorter and monosyllabic, even though it may sound a little harsher to the squeamish-minded." "But there are degrees of difference," I objected. "Just being tiddled isn't the same as being blotto, or-" "When you get into the vocabulary-decreasing business," he interrupted, "you don't bother with technicalities. You throw out the whole kit and caboodle-I mean the whole bunch," he hastily corrected himself. 11. I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost inclined "to slip away before he finished cursing ere but ere I could execute this intention, he ordered me in and shut and refastened the door. There was a great fire and that was all the light in the huge apartment, whose floor had grown a uniform grey; and the once brilliant pewter dishes, which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook of a similar obscurity, created by tarnish and dust. I inquired whether I might call the maid, and be conducted to a bedroom. Mr. Earnshaw vouchsafed no answer. (V.A.Kukharenko. Seminars in Style. M., 1971, pp.8-22).

PHONETIC EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC DEVICES

The stylistic approach to the utterance is not confined to its structure and sense. There is another thing to be taken into account, which, in a certain type of communication, viz. belles-lettres, plays an important role. This is the way a word, a phrase or a sentence sounds. The sound of most words taken separately will have little or no aesthetic value. It is in combination with other words that a word may acquire a desired phonetic effect. The way a separate word sounds may produce a certain euphonic impression, but this is a matter of individual perception and feeling and therefore subjective. For instance, a certain English writer expresses the opinion that angina, pneumonia, and uvula would make beautiful girl's names instead of what he calls "lumps of names like Joan, Joyce and Maud". In the poem "Cargoes" by John Masefield he considers the words like ivory, sandal-wood, cedar-wood, emeralds and amethysts as used in the first two stanzas to be beautiful, whereas those in the 3rd stanza "strike harshly on the ear!" "With a cargo of Tyne coal, Road-rails, pig-lead, Fire-wood, iron-ware and cheap tin trays." As one poet has it, this is "...a combination of words which is difficult to pronounce, in which the words rub against one another, interfere with one another, push one another." Verier, a French scientist, who is a specialist on English versification, suggests that we should try to pronounce the vowels [a:, i:, u:] in a strongly articulated manner and with closed eyes. If we do so, he says, we are sure to come to the conclusion that each of these sounds expresses a definite feeling or state of mind. Thus he maintains that the sound [u:] generally expresses sorrow or seriousness; [i:] produces the feeling of joy and so on. L. Bloomfield, a well-known American linguist says: "...in human speech, different sounds have different meaning. To study the coordination of certain sounds with certain meanings is to study language". An interesting statement in this regard is made by a Hungarian linguist, Ivan Fonagy: "The great semantic entropy (a term from theory of communication denoting the measure of the unknown, I.G) of poetic language stands in contrast to the predictability of its sounds. Of course, not even in the case of poetry can we determine the sound of a word on the basis of its meaning. Nevertheless in the

larger units of line and stanza, a certain relationship can be found between sounds and content." The Russian poet B. Pasternak is of quite a different opinion. He says that he has "...always thought that the music of words is not an acoustic phenomenon and does not consist of the euphony of vowels and consonants taken separately. It results from the correlation of the meaning of the utterance with its sound." The theory of the sense-independence of separate sounds is based on a subjective interpretation of sound associations and has nothing to do with objective scientific data. However, as is stated above, the sound of a word, or perhaps more exactly the way words sound in combination, cannot fail to contribute something to the general effect of the message, particularly when the sound effect has clearly been deliberately worked out. This can easily be discerned when analysing alliterative word combinations or the rhymes in certain stanzas or from a more elaborate analysis of sound arrangement. Onomatopoeia is a combination of speech-sounds, which aims at imitating sounds produced in nature (wind, sea, thunder, etc), by things (machines or tools, etc), by people (sighing, laughter, patter of feet, etc) and by animals. Combinations of speech sounds of this type will inevitably be associated with whatever produces the natural sound. Therefore the relation between onomatopoeia and the phenomenon it is supposed to represent is one of metonomy. There are two varieties of onomatopoeia: direct and indirect. Direct onomatopoeias contained in words that imitate natural sounds, as ding-dong, buzz, bang, cuckoo, tintinabulaf.ion, mew, ping-pong, roar and the like. These words have different degrees of imitative quality. Some of them immediately bring to mind whatever it is that produces the sound. Others require the exercise of a certain amount of imagination to decipher it. Onomatopoetic words can be used in a transferred meaning, as for instance, ding-dong, which represents the sound of bells rung continuously, may mean 1) noisy, 2) strenuously contested. Examples are: a ding-dong struggle, a ding-dong go at something. In the following newspaper headline: DING-DONG ROW OPENS ON BILL, both meanings are implied. Indirect onomatopoeia is a combination of sounds the aim of which is to make the sound of the utterance an echo of its sense. It is sometimes called "echowriting". An example is: 'And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple

curtain' (E. A. Poe), where the repetition of the sound [s] actually produces the sound of the rustling of the curtain. Indirect onomatopoeia, unlike alliteration, demands some mention of what makes the sound, as rustling (of curtains) in the line above. The same can be said of the sound [w] if it aims at reproducing, let us say, the sound of wind. The word wind must be mentioned, as in: "Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet A man goes riding by." (R. S. Stevenson) Indirect onomatopoeia is sometimes very effectively used by repeating words which themselves are not onomatopoetic, as in Poe's poem "The Bells" where the words tinkle and bells are distributed in the following manner: "Silver bells... how they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle" and further "To the tintinabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells." Alongside obviously onomatopoetic words as tinkle, tintinabulation and jingling the word bells is drawn into the general music of the poem and begins to display onomatopoetic properties through the repetition. A skilful example of onomatopoetic effect is shown by Robert Southey in his poem "How the Water Comes down at Lodore." The title of the poem reveals the purpose of the writer. By artful combination of words ending in -ing and by the gradual increase of the number of words in successive lines, the poet achieves the desired sound effect. The poem is rather too long to be reproduced here, but a few lines will suffice as illustrations: "And nearing and clearing, And falling and crawling and sprawling, And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And in this way the water comes down at Ladore." Alliteration is a phonetic stylistic device, which aims at imparting a melodic effect to the utterance. The essence of this device'" lies in the repetition of similar sounds, in particular consonant sounds, in close succession, particularly at the beginning of successive words: "The possessive instinct never stands still. Through florescence and feud, frosts and fires it follows the laws of progression". (J. Galsworthy) or, "Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,

fearing, "Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before." (E. A. Poe) Alliteration, like most phonetic expressive means, does not bear any lexical or other meaning unless we agree that a sound meaning exists as such. But even so we may not be able to specify clearly the character of this meaning, and the term will merely suggest that a certain amount of information is contained in the repetition of sounds, as is the case with the repetition of lexical units. However certain sounds if repeated may produce an effect that can be specified. For example the sound [m] is frequently used by Tennyson in the poem "The Lotus Eaters" to give a somnolent effect. "How sweet it were,... To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the music of mild-minded melancholy; To muse and brood and live again in memory." Therefore alliteration is generally regarded as a musical accompaniment of the author's idea, supporting it with some vague emotional atmosphere, which each reader interprets for himself. Thus the repetition of the sound [d] in the lines quoted from Poe's poem "The Raven" prompts the feeling of anxiety, fear, horror, anguish or all these feelings simultaneously. Sometimes a competent reader, if unable to decipher the implied purpose of the alliteration, may grow irritated if it is overdone and be ready to discard it from the arsenal of useful stylistic devices. An interesting example of the overuse -of alliteration is given in Swinburne's "Nephelidia" where the poet parodies his own style: "Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast." When the choice of words depends primarily on the principle of alliteration, exactitude of expression, and even sense may suffer. But when used sparingly and with at least some slight inner connection with the sense of the utterance, alliteration heightens the general aesthetic effect. Alliteration in the English language is deeply rooted in the traditions of English folklore. The laws of phonetic arrangement in Anglo-Saxon poetry differed greatly from those of present-day English poetry. In Old English poetry alliteration was one of the basic principles of verse and considered along with rhythm to be its main characteristic. Each stressed meaningful word in a line had to begin with the same sound or combination of sounds. The repetition of the initial sounds of the stressed words in the line, as it were, integrates the utterance into a compositional unit. Unlike rhyme in modern English verse, the semantic function of which is to

chain one line to another, alliteration in Old English verse was used to consolidate the sense within the line, leaving the relation between the lines rather loose. But there really is an essential resemblance structurally between alliteration and rhyme (by the repetition of the same sound) and also functionally (by communicating a consolidating effect). Alliteration is therefore sometimes called initial rhyme. The traditions of folklore are exceptionally stable and alliteration as a structural device of Old English poems and songs has shown remarkable continuity. It is frequently used as a well tested means not only in verse but in emotive prose, in newspaper headlines, in the titles of books, in proverbs and sayings, as for example in the following: Tit for tat; blind as a bat, betwixt and between; It is neck or nothing; to rob Peter to pay Paul; or in the titles of books: "Sense and Sensibility" (J. Austin); "Pride and Prejudice" (J. Austin); "The School for Scandal" (Sheridan); "A Book of Phrase and Fable" (Brewer). Rhyme is the repetition of identical or similar terminal sound combinations of words. Rhyming words are generally placed at a regular distance from each other. In verse they are usually placed at the end of the corresponding lines. Identity and particularly similarity of sound combinations may be relative. For instance, we distinguish between full rhymes and incomplete rhymes. The full rhyme presupposes identity of the vowel sound and the following consonant sounds in a stressed syllable, as in might, right; needless, heedless. When there is identity of the stressed syllable, including the initial consonant of the second syllable (in polysyllabic words), we have exact or identical rhymes. Incomplete rhymes present a greater variety. They can be divided into two main groups: vowel rhymes and consonant rhymes. In vowel-rhymes the vowels of the syllables in corresponding words are identical, but the consonants may be different as in flesh-fresh-press. Consonant rhymes, on the contrary, show concordance in consonants and disparity in vowels, as in worth-forth; tale-tool-Treble-trouble; flung-long. Modifications in rhyming sometimes go so far as to make one word rhyme with a combination of words; or two or even three words rhyme with a corresponding two' or three words, as in upon her honour-won her; bottom-forgot'em-shot him. Such rhymes are called compound or broken. The peculiarity of rhymes of this type is that the combination of words is made to sound like one word - a device, which inevitably gives a colloquial and sometimes a humorous touch to the utterance.

Compound rhyme may be set against what is called eye-rhyme, where the letters and not the sounds are identical, as in love - prove, flood - brood, have grave. It follows therefore that whereas compound rhyme is perceived in reading aloud, eye-rhyme can only be perceived in the written verse. Many eye-rhymes are the result of historical changes in the vowel sounds in certain positions. The continuity of English verse manifests itself also in retention of some pairs of what were once rhyming words. But on the analogy of these pairs, new eye-rhymes have been coined and the model now functions alongside ear-rhymes. According to the way the rhymes are arranged within the stanza, certain models have crystallized, for instance: 1. couplets - when the last words of two successive lines are rhymed. This is commonly marked aa. 2. triple rhymes aaa 3. cross rhymes abab 4. framing or ring rhymes abba. There is still another variety of rhyme, which is called internal rhyme. The rhyming words are placed not at the end of the lines but within the line, as in: "I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers." (Shelley) or, "Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and weary." (Poe) Internal rhyme breaks the line into two distinct parts, at the same time more strongly consolidating the ideas expressed in these two parts. Thus rhyme may be said to possess two seemingly contradictory functions: dissevering on the one hand, and consolidating on the other. As in many stylistic devices, these two functions of rhyme are realized simultaneously in a greater or lesser degree depending on the distribution of the rhymes. In aa rhymes the consolidating function is rather conspicuous. In aabaab rhymes the rhyming words bb may not immediately reveal their consolidating function. The dissevering function of internal rhyme makes itself felt in a distinctive pause, which is a natural result of the longer line. This quality of internal rhyme may be regarded as a leading one. The distinctive function of rhyme is particularly felt when it occurs unexpectedly in ordinary speech or in prose. The listener's attention is caught by the rhyme and he may lose the thread of the discourse. Rhythm exists in all spheres of human activity and assumes multifarious forms. It is a mighty weapon in stirring up emotions whatever its nature or origin, whether it is musical, mechanical, or symmetrical as in architecture. The most general definition of rhythm may be expressed as follows: "rhythm is a flow, movement, procedure, etc., characterized by basically regular recurrence of elements or features, as beat, or accent, in alternation with opposite or different

elements or features" (Webster's New World Dictionary). Rhythm can be perceived only provided that there is some kind of experience in catching the opposite elements or features in their correlation, and, what is of paramount importance, experience in catching the regularity of alternating patterns. Rhythm is primarily a periodicity, which requires specification as to the type of periodicity. According to some investigations, rhythmical periodicity in verse "requires intervals of about three quarters of a second between successive peaks of periods."1 It is a deliberate arrangement of speech into regularly recurring units intended to be grasped as a definite periodicity, which makes rhythm a stylistic device. Rhythm, therefore, is the main factor, which brings order into the utterance. The influence of the rhythm on the semantic aspect of the utterance is now being carefully investigated and it becomes apparent that orderly phonetic arrangement of the utterance calls forth orderly syntactical structures, which, in their turn, suggest an orderly segmenting of the sense groups. The conscious perception of rhythms must be acquired by training, as must the perception of any stylistic device. Some people are said to be completely deaf to rhythm and whatever efforts are exerted to develop this sense in them inevitably fail. But this is not true. A person may not be able to produce a flow of rhythmical units, but he can certainly acquire a feeling for rhythm if he trains his ear. Rhythm in language necessarily demands oppositions that alternate: long, short; stressed, unstressed; high, low and other contrasting segments of speech. Some theoreticians maintain that rhythm can only be perceived if there are occasional deviations from the regularity of alternations. In this connection de-Groot writes: "It is very strange indeed that deviations from the theme (i. e., the accepted kind of periodicity, ( G.) in separate lines (called irregularities of the line) have been looked upon as deficiencies of the poem by such eminent scholars as Yespersen and Heusseler. On the contrary, they are indispensable, and have both a formal and expressive function. Harmony is not only a matter of similarity, but also of dissimilarity, and in good poetry, irregularities of lines are among the most important features of the poem both in their formal and their expressive functions. Actually, the beauty of a poem is less dependent upon the regularities than upon the irregularities of the poem." Academician V. M. Zhirmunsky suggests that the concept of rhythm should be distinguished from that of metre. Metre is any form of periodicity in verse, its kind being determined by the character and number of syllables of which

it consists. The metre is an ideal phenomenon characterized by its strict regularity, consistency and unchangeability. Rhythm is flexible and sometimes an effort is required to perceive it. In classical verse it is perceived at the background of the metre. In accented verse - by the number of stresses in a line. In prose-by the alternation of similar syntactical patterns. He gives the following definition of verse rhythm. It is "the actual alternation of stress which appears as a result of interaction between the ideal metrical law and the natural phonetic properties of the given language material." He holds the view that romantic poetry regards metrical forms as a conventional tradition, which hinders the vigorous individual creativity of the poet and narrows the potential variety of poetic material. This trend in literature justifies all kinds of deviations from the metrical scheme as well as the dissimilarity of stanzas; it favours enjambment because it violates the monotonous concurrence of the rhythmical and syntactical units of the metrical system; it makes ample use of imperfect rhymes, inasmuch as they violate the trivial exactness of sound correspondence. It follows then that the concept of rhythm should not be identified with that of metre, the latter, be it repeated, appearing only in classical verse as an ideal form, an invariant of the given scheme of alternation. However, the deviations (the variants) must not go so far as to obscure the consciously perceived ideal scheme. As has been pointed out before, stylistic effect can only be achieved if there is a clear-cut dichotomy of the constituent elements (two kinds of meaning realized simultaneously, as in metaphor and metonymy; or two constructions, as in rhetorical questions and litotes, and so on). In the present case the dichotomy is perceived in the simultaneous materialization of the orthodox and free patterns of metrical alternation. J. Middleton Murry states: "In order that rhythmic effects should be successful they must be differentiated with certainty; and to manage contrasts of rhythm - without contrast there is no differentiation - with so much subtlety that they will remain subordinate to the intellectual suggestion of the words, is the most delicate work imaginable." In his notes on Shakespeare's plays the Russian poet B. Pasternak expressed the same idea in the following words: "...The metre is not made conspicuous. This is not a recitation. The form with its self-admiration does not overshadow the content, which is infathomable and chaste. It is an example of sublime poetry which in its finest examples has always the simplicity and freshness of prose."

The Russian poet A. Blok said that the poet is not one who writes verses, but the bearer of rhythm. Verse did not become entirely divorced from music when it began to live as an independent form of art. As is known, verse has its origin in song; but still the musical element has never been lost; it has assumed a new form of existence - rhythm. It follows then that rhythm is not a mere addition to verse or emotive prose, which also has its rhythm, and it must not be regarded as possessing "phonetic autonomy amounting to an 'irrelevant texture', but has a meaning." This point of view is now gaining ground. Many attempts have been made to ascribe meaning to rhythm and even to specify different meanings to different types of metre. This is important, inasmuch as it contributes to the now-prevailing idea that any form must make some contribution to the general sense. Rhythm intensifies the emotions. It also specifies emotions. Some students of rhythm go so far as to declare that "...one obvious agency for the expression of his (a poet's) attitude is surely metre" and that "...the poet's attitude toward his reader is reflected in his manipulation - sometimes his disregard - of metre." So divergence from the ideal metrical scheme is an inherent quality of rhythm in verse. The range of divergence must, however, have its limits. Deviations from the metrical theme are free within the given frame of variation, but they cannot go beyond that frame lest the rhythmical pattern should be destroyed. Permissible deviations from the given metre are called modifications of the rhythmical pattern. Some of them occur so frequently in classical verse, that they become, as it were, constituents of the rhythm. "If violations of the metre take root," writes R. Jakobson, "they themselves become rules..." and further "...these are allowed oscillations, departures within the limits of the law. In British parliamentary terms, it is not an opposition to its majesty the metre, but an opposition of its majesty." It has already been pointed out that if rhythm is to be a stylistic category, one thing is required - the simultaneous perception of two contrasting phenomena, a kind of dichotomy. Therefore rhythm in verse as an SD is defined as a combination of the ideal metrical scheme and the variations of it, variations which are governed by the standard. There are however certain cases in verse where no departures are allowed and the rhythm strikes the ear with its strict regularity. These are cases where the rhythm contributes to the sense. Thus in Robert Southey's "How the Water Comes

Down at Ladore" (See p. 121) the rhythm itself is meant to interpret the monotonous roar of the waterfall; or in Edward Lear's poem "'The Nutcrackers and the Sugar-tongs" where the rhythm reproduces the beat of galloping horses' feet, or in march rhythm where the beat of the lines suggests a musical foundation. In short, wherever there is a recognizable semantic function of the rhythm few, if any, deviations are evident. Rhythm reveals itself most conspicuously in music, dance and verse. We have so far dealt with verse because the properties of rhythm in language are most observable in this mode of communication. We shall now proceed to the analysis of rhythm in prose, bearing in mind that the essential properties of prose rhythm are governed by the same general rules, though not so apparent, perhaps, as in verse, and falling under different parameters of analysis. Much has been said and written about rhythm in prose. Some investigators, in attempting to find rhythmical patterns of prose, superimpose metrical measures on prose and regard instances, which do not fall under the suggested metrical scheme as variants. But the parameters of the rhythm in verse and in prose are entirely different. R. Jakobson states "...any metre uses the syllable as a unit of measure at least in certain sections of the verse."3 The unit of measure in prose, however, is not the syllable but a structure, a word combination, a sequence of words, that is, phrases, clauses, sentences, even syntactical wholes.4 The structural pattern, which in the particular case is the rhythmical unit, will be repeated within the given span of prose. The rhythm will be based not on the regular alternation of opposing units, i. e. a regular beat, but on the repetition of similar structural units following one another or repeated after short intervals. The peculiar property of prose rhythm particularly in 20th century prose, is that it occurs only in relatively short spans of text, and that it constantly changes its patterns and may suddenly drop to a normal almost unapparent rhythmical design or to no rhythm at all. It must be made clear that metrical or accented rhythm, which is an internal and indispensable property of verse, is incidental in prose, which in its very essence is non-rhythmical. A prose passage interpolated into a work written in verse, a device so favoured by some poets, has its significance in the acute opposition of the two modes of expression: rhythmical versus non-rhythmical. The most observable rhythmical patterns in prose are based on the use of certain stylistic syntactical devices namely, enumeration, repetition, parallel construction (in particular,

balance) and chiasmus. The beginning of Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities" may serve as an illustration of prose rhythm. Here the rhythm is easily discernible. In the following passage it is more difficult to catch the rhythm, though when the passage is read aloud, the rhythm is clear. "The high-sloping roof, of a fine sooty pink was almost Danish, and two 'ducky' little windows looked out of it, giving an impression that very tall servants lived up there." Here the rhythmical pattern of the utterance is almost imperceptible to an untrained ear, but will clearly be felt by one with rhythmical experience. The paired attributes high-sloping, fine sooty, ducky little and likewise the attribute with an adverbial modifier very tall are all structurally similar word combinations and therefore create the rhythm. As a good example of oscillating prose rhythm hardly dissectable into rhythmical units is the following excerpt from Somerset Maugham's "The Painted Veil": "Walter, I beseech you to forgive me," she said, leaning over him. For fear that he could not bear the pressure she took care not to touch him. "I'm so desperately sorry for the wrong I did you. I so bitterly regret it." He said nothing. He did not seem to hear. She was obliged to insist. It seemed to her strangely that his soul was a fluttering moth and its wings were heavy with hatred. "Darling." A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face. It was less than a movement, and yet it gave all the effect of a terrifying convulsion. She had never used that word to him before. Perhaps in his dying brain there passed the thought, confused and difficultly grasped, that he had only heard her use it, a commonplace of her vocabulary, to dogs, and babies and motorcars. Then something horrible occurred. She clenched her hands, trying with all her might to control herself, for she saw two tears run slowly down his wasted cheeks. "Oh, my precious, my dear, if you ever loved me - I know you loved me and I was hateful - I beg you to forgive me. I've no chance now to show my repentance. Have mercy on me. I beseech you to forgive." She stopped. She looked at him, all breathless, waiting passionately for a reply. She saw that he tried to speak. Her heart gave a great bound." The long passage is necessary in order that the fluctuating, rhythmical pattern of both the author's and the character's speech might be observed. The most obvious rhythmical unit here is the structural similarity of the sentences. The overwhelming majority of the sentences are short, simple, almost unextended, resembling each other in structural design - 'He said nothing', 'He did not seem to hear', 'She was obliged to insist', 'A shadow passed over his wan and sunken face', 'She had never

used that word to him before', 'She saw that he tried to speak', 'Her heart gave a great bound'. Likewise the character's speech is marked by the same feature - the sentences are short, simple, resembling each other in their structural design, as "'Walter, I beseech you to forgive me', 'I beg you to forgive me', 'I've no chance now to show my repentance', 'I beseech you to forgive' and earlier 'I'm so desperately sorry... I so bitterly regret it..." But it is not only the repetition of the structural design of the sentences that makes the rhythm: there are other elements contributing to it. With the increase of emotional tension the author almost slips into the iambic rhythm of blank verse. Dramatic feeling demands regular rhythm. As the emotion becomes tenser, the rhythmical beat and cadence of the words becomes more evident. Mark the sentence which begins with "Perhaps in his dying brain...". Here a kind of metrical rhythm can easily be discerned - "there passed the thought - confused and difficultly grasped that he had only heard her use it, ... and so it goes on until the phrase "then something horrible occurred." Of course this inter-correlation of the rhythmical units in the passage is open to discussion. There may be various delivery instances. In this connection R. Jakobson says that "a variation of verse instances within a given poem must be strictly distinguished from the variable delivery instances." Indeed, almost any piece of prose, though in essence nonrhythmical, can be made rhythmical by isolating words or sequences of words and making appropriate pauses between each. In order to distinguish the variable delivery instances of an utterance from its inherent structural and semantic properties, it is necessary to subject the text to a thorough analysis of the correlated component parts. The short survey of the passage above shows that the prose rhythm is interspersed with genuine metrical rhythm not devoid, of course, of the modifications, which make the verse-rhythm less conspicuous. A very good example of prose rhythm can be seen in the chapter from Galsworthy's "Man of Property" entitled 'June's Treat' a passage from which is given later. It must be noted that the irruption of prose into a metrical pattern is generally perceived as annihilation of rhythm, whereas the introduction of metrical pattern into prose aims at consolidating the already vaguely perceived rhythm of the utterance. Prose rhythm, unlike verse rhythm, lacks consistency, as it follows various principles. But nevertheless, a trained ear will always detect a kind of alternation of syntactical units. The task is then to find these units and to ascertain the manner of alternation. This is not an easy task because, as has already been

pointed out, rhythm is not an essential property of prose, whereas it is essential in verse. Prose is the opposite of verse and this opposition is primarily structural, in this case, rhythmical structure versus non-rhythmical structure. The incursion of prose into poetry is a deliberate device to break away from its strict rhythm. An interesting suggestion is made by V. M. Hamm who says that "...song breaks down under the stress of reflection - truth elbows out beauty, if you will. The poet thinks, therefore he cannot sing; feeling is inhibited. It is as if he were saying, 'Poetry is, after all, only a game, and I have more serious concerns than the keeping of an accent'. Is he thus trying to show his superiority to his art?" This, of course, should not be taken literally. But on the whole, there is much in it. Poetry is the domain of feeling and thought where feeling predominates. Emotive prose is the domain of thought and feeling where thought predominates. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.118-131). PRACTICAL EXERCISES Exercise I. Indicate what graphical expressive means are used in the following extracts: 1. ".. .1 refuse his money altogezzer." 2. .. .on pain of being called a g-irl, I spent most of the remaining twilights that summer with Miss Maudie At-kinson on her front porch. 3. "...Adieu you, old man, grey. I pity you, and I despise you." 4. He misses our father very much. He was s-1-a-i-n in North Africa. 5. We'll teach the children to look at things... I shall make it into a sort of game for them. Teach them to take notice. Don't let the world pass you by, I shall tell them... For the sun, I shall say, open your eyes for that laaaarge sun... 6. ".. .1 r-r-r-ruin my character by remaining with a Ladyship so infame!" 7. You have no conception no conception of what we are fighting over here. 8. "Oh, what's the difference. Mother?" "Muriel, I want to know." 9. "And it's my bounden duty as a producer to resist every attack on the integrity of American industry to the last ditch. Yes-SIR!" 10. "Now listen, Ed, stop that, now! I'm desperate. I am desperate, Ed, do you hear? Can't you see?" 11. It was almost three o'clock when Mary Jane finally found Eloise's house. She explained to Eloise, who came out to the drive-way to meet her, that everything had been absolutely perfect, that she had remembered the way exactly, until she had turned off the Merrick Parkway. Eloise said, "Merritt Parkway, baby"... Eloise asked Mary Jane how it happened that she had the-day off. Mary Jane said she didn't have the whole day off; it was just that Mr. Weynburg had a hernia and was home in Larchmont, and she had to bring him his mail... She asked Eloise, "Just

what exactly is hernia, anyway?" Eloise, dropping her cigarette on the soiled snow underfoot, said she didn't actually know but that Mary Jane didn't "No," Eloise was saying, "It was actually red have to worry much about getting one." "I heard it was blond," Mary Jane repeated... "Uh-uh. Definitely." Eloise yawned. "I was almost in the room with her when she dyed it" ...12. ...When Will's ma was down here keeping house for him- she used to run in to see me, real often. Exercise II. Indicate the causes and effects of the following cases of alliteration: 1. Both were flushed, fluttered and rumpled, by the late scuffle. 2. The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees... 3. His wife was shrill, languid, handsome and horrible. 4. .. .he swallowed the hint with a gulp and a gasp and a grin. 5. You lean, long, lanky lath of a lousey bastard... 6. "Luscious, languid and lustful, isn't she?" "Those are not the correct epithets. She is-or rather was-surly, lustrous and sadistic," 7. The wicky, wacky, wocky bird, He sings a song that can't be heard... He sings a song that can't be heard. The wicky, wacky, wocky bird. The wicky, wacky, wocky mouse, He built himself a little house... But snug he lived inside his house, The wicky, wacky, wocky mouse. Exercise III. State the part of speech, through which onomatopoeia is expressed, and its function. 1. Then with an enormous, shattering rumble, sludge-puff sludge... puff, the train came into the station. 2. "1 hope it comes and zzzzzz everything before it." 3. I had only this one year of working without shhh! 4. Cecil was immediately shushed. 5. Streaked by a quarter moon, the Mediterranean shushed gently into the beach. 6. "Sh-sh." "But I am whispering." This continual shushing annoyed him. 7. The Italian trio... tut-tutted their tongues at me. Exercise IV. Analyse the following cases of occasional graphon and indicate the causes, which produced the mispronunciation (or misinterpretation) of a word, reflected in graphon (age, lack of education, intoxication, stutter, etc.): 1. "What is that?" "A ninsek," the girl said. 2. My daddy's coming tomorrow on a nairplane. 3. "Why doesn't he have his shirt on?" the child asks distinctly. "I don't know," her mother says. "I suppose he thinks he has a nice chest." "Is that his boo-zim?" Joyce

asks. "No, darling: only ladies have bosom." 4. After a hum a beautiful Negress sings "Without I song, the dahay would nehever end..." 5. He ducks into the Ford and in that dusty hot interior starts to murmur: "Ev, reebody loves the, cha cha cha. 6. He spoke with the flat ugly "a" and withered "r" of Boston Irish, and Levy looked up at him and mimicked "All right, I'll give the caaads a break, and staaat playing." 7. "...Ford automobile ... operates, on a rev-rev-a-lu- shun-ary principle." 8. .. .she returned to Mexico City at noon. Next morning the children made a celebration and spent their time writing on the blackboard, "We lov ar ticher. 9. She mimicked a lisp. "I don't weally know wevver I'm a good girl." 10. "Who are they going to hang for it?" he asked Tom. "Probably the Vicar. They know that the last thing he'd do would be to be mixed up with a howwid woman. Exercise V. Proceeding from your reading experience classify the following examples of permanent graphon according to patterns of their formation and frequency of usage. 1. "I got to meet a fella," said Joe. Alt pretended not to hear him... He saw with satisfaction that the fella Joe was going to meet would wait a long time. 2. He's the only one of your friends who's worth tupence, anyway. 3. Now pour us another cuppa. 4. How are you, dullin? 5. Come on, I'll show you summat. 6. Well, I dunno. I was kinda threatening him. 7. ".. .1 declare I don't know how you spend it all. "Aw, Ma,-I gotta lotta things to buy." 8. "That's my nickname, Cat. Had it all my life. They say my old lady must of been scared by a cat when she was having me." 9. "Hope you fellers don't mind. Gladys, I told you we oughtn't to of eaten them onions, not before comin' on the boat." "Gimme a kiss an' I'll tell ye if I mind or not." said Ike: ' 10. Say, Ike, what do you think we oughta do? I think we oughta go down on the boat to Seattle, Wash., like a coupla dude passengers. 11. Wilson was a little hurt. "Listen, boy," he told him, "Ah may not be able to read eve'thin' so good, but they ain't a thing Ah can't do if Ah set mah mind to it. Exercise VI. Substitute the given graphons by their normative graphical interpretation: 1. "You remember him at all?" "Just, sort of. Little ole private? Terribly unattractive." 2. "You're one that ruint it." 3. "You ast me a question. I answered it lor you. 4. "You'll probly be sick as a dog tomorra, Tills." 5. Marrow said: "Chawming climate out heah in the tropics, old chap." 6. What this place needs is a woman's touch, as they say in the pitchers. 7. "You ain't invited," Doll drawled. "Whada you mean I ain't invited?" 8. "I've never seen you around much with the rest ot the girls. Too bad! Otherwise we mighta met. I ve met all the rest of

'em so far." 9. You're French Canadian aintcha? I bet all thegirls go for you, I bet you're gonna be a great success. 10. "You look awful - whatsamatter with your lace? 11. "Veronica," he thought. "Why isn't she here? Godamnit, why isn't she here?" 12. "Wuddaya think she's doing out there? 13. ". . . for a helluva intelligent guy you re about as tactless as it's humanly possible to be." 14. "Ah you guys whattaya doin?" 15. How many cupsacoffee you have in Choy's this morning? 16. You been in the army what now? Five years? Fivenahalf? It's about time for you to get over bein a punk ree-croot. 17. "What you gonna do, Mouse?" 18. "Do me a favor. Go out in the kitchen and tell whosis to give her her dinner early. Willya?" 19. "Dont'cha remember me?" he laughed. 20. .. .looking him straight in the eye, suggested. "Meetcha at the corner?" 21. "Whatch'yu want? This is Rome." 22. "Whereja get all these pictures?" he said. (V.A.Kukharenko, Seminars in Style. M., 1971, pp.107-112).

LEXICAL EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC DEVICES. INTENTIONAL MIXING OF THE STYLISTIC ASPECT OF WORDS
Heterogeneity of the component parts of the utterance is the basis for a stylistic device called bathos Unrelated elements are brought together as if they denoted things equal in rank or belonging to one class, as if they were of the same stylistic aspect. By being forcibly linked together, the elements acquire a slight modification cf. meaning. This device, which calls forth an acute feeling of incongruity, is half-linguistic, half-logical. The heterogeneity may manifest itself in absolutely unrelated concepts being joined together, for example, elevated and commonplace. Here is a passage from Byron's "Don Juan" in which the elevated diction of a young man, who is torn away from his beloved, is interlarded with everyday phrases and expressions, reflecting the situation - he gets sea-sick: "And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear But that's impossible, and cannot be Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air, Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea, Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair! Or think of any thing excepting thee; A mind diseased no remedy can physic

(Here the ship gave a lurch, and he grew sea-sick) "Sooner shall heaven kiss earth - (here he fell sicker) Oh, Julia! what is every other woe? (For God's sake let me have a glass of liquor; Pedro, Battista, help me down below} . Julia, my love! (you rascal, Pedro, quicker} Oh, Julia! - (this curst vessel pitches so) Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching!" (Here he grew inarticulate with retching.) Such poetic expressions as 'heaven kissing the earth', 'what is every other woe'; 'beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching' are joined in one flow of utterance with colloquial expressions: 'For God's sake; you rascal; help me down below', 'this curst vessel pitches so'. This produces an effect, which serves the purpose of lowering the loftiness of expression, inasmuch as there is a sudden drop from the elevated to the commonplace or even the ridiculous. As is seen from this example, it is not so easy to distinguish whether the device is more linguistic or more logical. But the logical and linguistic are closely interwoven in problems of stylistics. Another example is the following: "But oh? ambrosial cash! Ah! who would lose thee? When we no more can use, or even abuse thee!" ("Don Juan") Ambrosial is a poetic word meaning 'delicious', 'fragrant', 'divine'. Cash is a common colloquial word meaning 'money', 'money that a person actually has', 'ready money'. Whenever literary words come into collision with non-literary ones there arises incongruity, which in any style is always deliberate, inasmuch as a style presupposes a conscious selection of language means. The following sentence from Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" illustrates with what skill the author combines elevated words and phrases and common colloquial ones in order to achieve the desired impact on the reader - it being the combination of the supernatural and the ordinary. "But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for." The elevated ancestors, simile, unhallowed, disturb (in the now obsolete meaning of tear to pieces) are put alongside the colloquial contraction the Country's ('the country is') and the colloquial done for. This device is a very subtle one and not always discernible even to an experienced literary critic, to say nothing of the rank-and-file reader.

The difficulty lies first of all in the inability of the inexperienced reader to perceive the incongruity of the component parts of the utterance. Thus in Byron's lines: "They grieved for those who perished with the cutter And also for the biscuit-casks and butter." the copulative conjunction and as well as the adverb also suggest the homogeneity of the concepts those who perished and biscuit-casks and butter. The people who perished are placed on the same level as the biscuits and butter lost at the same time. This arrangement may lead to at least two inferences: 1. for the survivors the loss of food was as tragic as the loss of friends who perished in the shipwreck; 2. the loss of food was even more disastrous, hence the elevated grieved ... for food. It must be born in mind, however, that this interpretation of the subtle stylistic device employed here is prompted by purely linguistic analysis: the verbs to grieve and to perish, which are elevated in connotation, are more appropriate when used to refer to people - and are out of place when used to refer to food. The every-day-life cares and worries overshadow the grief for the dead, or at least are put on the same level. The verb to grieve, when used in reference to both the people who perished and the food, which was lost, weakens, as it were, the effect of the first and strengthens the effect of the second. The implications and inferences drawn from a detailed and meticulous analysis of language means and stylistic devices can draw additional information from the communication. This kind of implied meaning is sometimes called superlinear or super-segmental, i. e., a meaning derived not directly from the words, but from a much finer analysis. Almost of the same kind are the following lines, also from Byron: "Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water - the day after." Again we have incongruity of concepts caused by the heterogeneity of the conventionally paired classes of things in the first line and the alliterated unconventional pair in the second line. It needs no proof that the words sermons and soda-water are used metonymically here signifying 'repentance' and 'sickness' correspondingly. The decoded form of this utterance will thus be: "Let us now enjoy ourselves in spite of consequences." But the most significant item in the linguistic analysis here will of course be the identical formal structure of the pairs 1. wine and women; 2. mirth and laughter and 3. sermons and soda-water. The first and second pairs consist of words so closely related that they may be considered almost synonymous. This affects the last pair and makes the words

sermons and soda-water sound as if they were as closely related as the words in the first two pairs. A deeper insight into the author's intention may lead the reader to interpret them as a tedious but unavoidable remedy for the sins committed. Byron especially favours the device of bathos in his "Don Juan." Almost every stanza contains ordinarily unconnected concepts linked together by a coordinating conjunction and producing a mocking effect or a realistic approach to those phenomena of life, which imperatively demand recognition, no matter how elevated the subject-matter may be. Here are other illustrations from this epochmaking poem: "heaviness of heart or rather stomach;" "There's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms As rum and true religion" "...his tutor and his spaniel" "who loved philosophy and a good dinner" "I cried upon my first wife's dying day And also when my second ran away." We have already pointed out the peculiarity of the device, that it is half linguistic, half logical. But the linguistic side becomes especially conspicuous when there is a combination of stylistically heterogeneous words and phrases. Indeed the juxtaposition of highly literary norms of expression and words or phrases that must be classed as non-literary, sometimes low colloquial or even vulgar, will again undoubtedly produce a stylistic effect, and when decoded, will contribute to the content of the utterance, often adding an element of humour. Thus, for instance, the following from Somerset Maugham's "The Hour before Dawn": "Will you oblige me by keeping your trap shut, darling? he retorted." The device is frequently presented in the structural model, which we shall call heterogeneous enumeration. (I.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971. pp.132-135). INTERACTION OF DIFFERENT TYPES OF LEXICAL MEANING Words in a context, as has been pointed out, may acquire additional lexical 'meanings not fixed in dictionaries, what we have called contextual meanings. The latter may sometimes deviate from the dictionary meaning to such a degree that the new meaning even becomes the opposite of the primary meaning, as, for example, with the word sophisticated. This is especially the case when we deal with transferred meanings. What is known in linguistics as transferred meaning is

practically the interrelation between two types of lexical meaning: dictionary and contextual. The contextual meaning, as has been pointed out, will always depend on the dictionary (logical) meaning to a greater or lesser extent. When the deviation from the acknowledged meaning is carried to a degree that it causes an unexpected turn in the recognized logical meanings, we register a stylistic device. The transferred meaning of a word may be fixed in dictionaries as a result of long and frequent use of the word other than in its primary meaning. In this case we register a derivative meaning oi the word. The term transferred is meant to point to the process of the formation of the derivative meaning. Hence the term transferred should be used, to our mind, as a lexicographical term signifying diachronically the development of the semantic structure of the word. In this case we do not perceive two meanings. When, however, we perceive two meanings of the word simultaneously, we are confronted with a stylistic device in which the two meanings interact. (I.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.135-136). INTERACTION OF DICTIONARY AND CONTEXTUAL LOGICAL MEANINGS The relation between the dictionary and contextual logical meanings may be maintained along different lines: on the principle of affinity, on that of proximity, or symbol - referent relations, or on opposition. Thus, the stylistic device based on the first principle is metaphor, on the second, metonymy and on the third, irony. Metaphor. A metaphor is a relation between the dictionary and contextual logical meanings based on the affinity or similarity of certain properties of features of the two corresponding concepts. "The more obvious the similarity, the less need there is for deciphering words in the context. Thus in "Dear Nature is the kindest Mother still." (Byron, "Childe Harold") no explanatory words are used. Nature is likened to a Mother in her attitude to man. The action of nursing is implied but not directly stated. In the following example, however, an explanation is given: "The indicators became enemies if they lagged behind his wish: dear and reliable friends when they showed what he wanted." (Mitchel Wilson, "Live with Lightning") The explanatory words 'if they...', 'when they...' help the reader to decipher the true meaning of the metaphor. Metaphor can be embodied in all the meaningful parts of speech, in nouns, adjectives, verbs, adverbs and sometimes even in the auxiliary parts of speech, as in prepositions. In "The human tide is rolling westward." (Dickens, "Dombey and Son"), the metaphor is embodied in the

adjective. "In the slanting beams that streamed through the open window, the dust danced and was golden. (O. Wilde, "The Picture of Dorian Gray") Here the metaphors lie in the verbs. "The leaves fell sorrowfully." Here it is the adverb that is a metaphor. The metaphor is a well-known semantic way of building new meanings and new words. "It is due to the metaphor" according to the remark of Quintilian, "that each thing seems to have its name in language." Even language has been figuratively defined as a dictionary of faded metaphors. "Try to be precise," writes J. Middleton Murry, "and you are bound to be metaphorical; you simply cannot help establishing affinities between all the provinces of the animate and inanimate world." Metaphors, like all stylistic devices can be classified according to their degree of unexpectedness. Thus metaphors, which are absolutely unexpected, i. e., are quite unpredictable, are called genuine metaphors. Those, which are commonly used in speech and therefore are sometimes even fixed in dictionaries as expressive means of language are trite metaphors, or dead metaphors. Their predictability therefore is apparent. Genuine metaphors are regarded as belonging to language-in-action, i.e. speech metaphors, trite metaphors belong to the language-as-a-system, i.e. language proper, and are usually fixed in dictionaries as units of the language. V. V. Vinogradov states: "...a metaphor, if it is not a cliche, is an act of establishing an individual world outlook, it is an act of subjective isolation... Therefore a word metaphor is narrow, subjectively enclosed, ...it imposes on the reader a subjective view of the object or phenomenon and its semantic ties." The examples given, above may serve as illustrations of genuine metaphors. Here are some examples of metaphors that are considered trite. They are time-worn and well rubbed into the language: a ray of hope, floods of tears, a storm of indignation, a flight of fancy, "a gleam of mirth, a shadow of a smile and the like. The interaction of the logical dictionary meaning and the logical contextual meaning assumes different forms. Sometimes this interaction is perceived as a deliberate interplay of the two meanings. In this case, each of the meanings preserves its relative independence. Sometimes, however, the metaphoric use of a word begins to affect the source meaning, i. e. the meaning from which the metaphor is derived, with the result that the target meaning, that is the metaphor itself, takes the upper hand and may even oust the source meaning. In this case we speak of dead metaphors. Thus in such words as to grasp (-= 'to understand'), to get (== 'to

understand'), to see (='to understand'), the meaning in brackets has become a derivative logical meaning and is fixed by all existing dictionaries as such. The metaphorical origin of these meanings can hardly be perceived. There is no interplay of the two meanings. Consequently, there is no stylistic device, no metaphor. In such words as to melt (away) as in "these misgivings gradually melted away," we can still recognize remnants of the original meaning and in spite of the fact that the meaning to vanish, to disappear is already fixed in dictionaries as one of the derivative meanings, the primary meaning still makes itself felt. Trite metaphors are sometimes injected with new vigour, i. e. their primary meaning is re-established alongside the new (derivative) meaning. This is done by supplying the central image created by the metaphor with additional words, bearing some reference to the main word. For example: "Mr. Pickwick bottled up his vengeance and corked it down." The verb to bottle up is explained in dictionaries as follows: "to keep in check" ("Penguin Dictionary"); "to conceal, to restrain, repress" ("Cassell's New English Dictionary"). So the metaphor in the word can hardly be felt. But it is revived by the direct meaning of the verb to cork down. This context refreshes the almost dead metaphor and gives it a second life. Such metaphors are called sustained or prolonged. Here is another example of a sustained metaphor: Mr. Dbmbey's cup of satisfaction was so full at this moment, however, that he felt he could afford a drop or two of its contents, even to sprinkle on the dust in the by-path of his little daughter." (Dickens, "Dombey and Son") We may call the principal metaphor the central image of the sustained metaphor and the other words, which bear reference to the central image - contributory images. Thus in the example given the word cup (of satisfaction) being a trite metaphor is revived by the following contributory images: full, drop, contents, sprinkle. It is interesting to note that both the central image (the cup) and the contributory words are used in two senses simultaneously: direct and indirect. The second plane of utterance is maintained by the key word - satisfaction. It is this word that helps us to decipher the idea behind the sustained metaphor. Sometimes however the central image is not given, but the string of words all bearing upon some implied central point of reference are so associated with each other that the reader is bound to create the required image in his mind. Let us take the following sentence from Shakespeare: "I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent." The words spur, to prick, the sides in their interrelation will inevitably create the

image of a steed. The same is to be seen in the following lines from Shelley's "Cloud": "In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits." Here the central image - that of a captive beast - is suggested by the contributory images - fettered, struggles and howls. The metaphor, is often defined as a compressed simile. But this definition lacks precision. Moreover it is misleading, inasmuch as the metaphor aims at identifying the objects, while the simile aims at finding some point of resemblance by keeping the objects apart. That is why these two stylistic devices are viewed as belonging to two different groups of SDs. They are different in their linguistic nature. True, the degree of identification of objects or phenomena in a metaphor varies according to its syntactic function in the sentence and to the part of speech in which it is embodied. Thus when the metaphor is expressed in a noun-predicative, the degree of identification is very low. This is due to the character of the predicative relation in general. The metaphor in this case can be likened to an epithet. Indeed, in the sentence 'Expression is the dress of thought' we can hardly see any process of identification between the concepts expression and dress; whereas in the lines "Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him In soul and aspect as in age: years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb; And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. The metaphors steal, fire, cup, brim embodied in verbs and nouns not used predicatively can be regarded as fully identified with the concepts they aim at producing. The metaphor is one of the most powerful means of creating images. This is its main function. Genuine metaphors are mostly to be found' in poetry and emotive prose. Trite metaphors are generally used as expressive means in newspaperarticles, in oratorical style and even, in scientific language. The use of trite metaphors should not be regarded as a drawback of style. They help the writer to enliven his work and even make the meaning more concrete. There is constant interaction between genuine and trite metaphors. Genuine metaphors, if they are good and can stand the test of time, may through frequent repetition, become trite and consequently easily predictable. Trite metaphors, as has been shown, may regain their freshness through the process of prolongation of the metaphor.

Metaphors may be sustained not only on the basis of a trite metaphor. The initial metaphor may be genuine and may also be developed through a number of contributory images so that the whole of the utterance becomes one sustained metaphor. A skillfully written example of such a metaphor is to be found in Shakespeare's Sonnet No 24. The central image - "The eye - the painter" is developed through a number of contributory images: to draw, table, frame, hanging (picture) and the like. In conclusion it will be of interest to show the results of the interaction between the dictionary and contextual meanings. The constant use of a metaphor, i. e. a word in which two meanings are blended, gradually leads to the breaking up of the primary meaning. The metaphoric use of the word begins to affect the dictionary meaning, adding to it fresh connotations or shades of meaning. But this influence, however strong it may be, will never reach the degree where the dictionary meaning entirely disappears. If it did, we should have no stylistic device. It is a law of stylistics that in a stylistic device the stability of the dictionary meaning is always retained, no matter how great the influence of the contextual meaning may be. Metonymy is based on a different type of relation between the dictionary and contextual meanings, a relation based not on affinity, but on some kind of association connecting the two concepts, which these meanings represent. Thus the word crown may stand for king or queen', cup or glass for 'the drink it contains', woolsack for 'the Chancellor of the Exchequer who sits on it, or the position and dignity of the Lord Chancellor', e. g.,Here the noble lord inclined his knee to the Woolsack." (from Hansard). Here also the interrelation between the dictionary and contextual meanings should stand out clearly and conspicuously. Only then can we state that a stylistic device is used. Otherwise, we must turn our mind to lexicological problems, i. e. to the ways and means by which new words and meanings are coined. The examples of metonymy given above are traditional. In fact, they are derivative logical meanings and therefore fixed in dictionaries. However, when such meanings are included in dictionaries, there is usually a label fig ('figurative use'). This shows that the new meaning has not entirely replaced the primary one, but, as it were, coexists with it.

Still the new meaning has become so common, that it is easily predictable and therefore does not bear any additional information, which is an indispensable condition for an SD. Here are some more widely used metonymical meanings, some of which are already fixed in dictionaries without the label fig: the press for '(the personnel connected with) a printing or publishing establishment', or for 'the newspaper and periodical literature which is printed by the printing press'. The bench is used as a generic term for 'magistrates and justices'. A hand is used for a worker; the cradle stands for infancy, earliest stages, place of origin and the grave stands for death. Metonymy used in language-in-action or speech, i.e. contextual metonymy, is genuine metonymy and reveals a quite unexpected substitution of one word for another, or even of one concept for another, on the ground of some strong impression produced by a chance feature of the thing, for example: "Miss Tox's hand trembled as she slipped it through Mr. Dombey's arm, and felt herself escorted up the steps, preceded by a cocked hat and a Babylonian collar." Cocked hat and Babylonian collar stand for the wearer of the articles in question. One can hardly admit that there is a special characterizing function in such a substitution. The function of these examples I of genuine metonymy is more likely to point out the insignificance of the wearer rather than his importance, for his personality is reduced to his externally conspicuous features, the hat and red collar. Here is another example of genuine metonymy: "Then they came in. Two of them, a man with long fair moustaches and a silent dark man... Definitely, the moustache and I had nothing in common." (Doris Lessing. "Retreat to Innocence") Again we have a feature of a man, which catches the eye, in this case his facial appearance: the moustache stands for the man himself. The function of the metonymy here is to indicate that the speaker knows nothing of the man in question, moreover there is a definite implication that this is the first time the speaker has seen him. Here is another example of the same kind: "There was something so very agreeable in being so intimate with such a waistcoat; in being on such off-hand terms so soon with such a pair of whiskers that Tom was uncommonly pleased with himself." In these two cases of genuine metonymy a broader context than that required by a metaphor is necessary in order to decipher the true meaning of the stylistic device. In both cases it is necessary to understand the words in their proper meanings first. Only then is it possible to grasp the metonymy.

In the following example the metonymy grape also requires a broad context: "And this is stronger than the strongest grape Could e'er express in its expanded shape." Byron) Metonymy and metaphor differ also in the way they are deciphered. In the process of disclosing the meaning implied in a metaphor, one image excludes the other, that is the metaphor lamp in the 'The sky lamp of the night' when deciphered, means the moon, and though there is a definite interplay of meanings, we perceive only one object, the moon. This is not the case with metonymy. Metonymy, while presenting one object to our mind does not exclude the other. In the example given above the moustache and the man himself are both perceived by the mind. Many attempts have been made to pinpoint the types of relation which metonymy is based on. Among them the following are most common: 1. a concrete thing used instead of an abstract notion. In this case the thing becomes a symbol of the notion, as in "The camp, the pulpit and the law For rich men's sons are free." 2. The container instead of the thing contained: The hall applauded. 3. The relation of proximity, as in: "The round game table was boisterous and happy." 4. The material instead of the thing made of it, as in: "The marble spoke." 5. The instrument, which the doer uses in performing the action instead of the action or the doer himself, as in: "Well, Mr. Weller, says the gentl'mn, you're a very good whip, and can do what you like with your horses, we know." "As the sword is the worst argument that can be used, so should it be the last." The list is in no way complete. There are many other types of relations, which may serve as a basis for metonymy. It must also be noted that metonymy, being a means of building up imagery, generally concerns concrete objects, which are generalized. The process of generalization is easily carried out with the help of the definite article. Therefore instances of metonymy are very often used with the definite article, or with no article at all as in "There was perfect sympathy between Pulpit and Pew," where 'Pulpit' stands for the clergyman and 'Pew' for the congregation. This is probably due to the fact that any definition of a word may be taken for metonymy, inasmuch as it shows a property or an essential quality of the concept, thus disclosing a kind of relation between the thing as a whole and-a feature of it which may be regarded as part of it. Irony is a stylistic device also based on the simultaneous realization of two logical meanings - dictionary and contextual, but the two meanings stand in opposition to each other. Thus in the sentence: "It must be delightful to find

oneself in a foreign country without a penny in one's pocket." - the italicized word acquires a meaning quite the opposite to its primary dictionary meaning, that is 'unpleasant', 'not delightful. The word containing the irony is strongly marked by intonation. It has an emphatic stress and is generally supplied with a special melody design, unless the context itself renders this intonation pattern unnecessary, as in the following excerpt from Dickens' "Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club": "Never mind," said the stranger, cutting the address very short, "said enough - no more; smart chap that cabman - handled his fives well; but if I'd been your friend in the green jemmy - damn me - punch his head -, Cod I would - pig's whisper - pieman too, - no gammon." "This coherent speech was interrupted by the entrance of the Rochester coachman, to announce that..." The word 'coherent', which describes Mr. Jingle's speech, is inconsistent with the actual utterance, and therefore becomes selfcontradictory. In no other device where we can observe the interplay of the dictionary and contextual meanings, is the latter so fluctuating, suggestive, and dependent on the environment as is irony. That is why there are practically no cases of irony in the language-as-a-system. Irony must not be confused with humour, although they have very much in common. Humour always causes laughter. What is funny must come as a sudden clash of the positive and the negative. In this respect irony can be likened to humour. But the function of irony is not confined to producing a humorous effect. In a sentence like "How clever of you!" where, due to the intonation pattern, the word 'clever' conveys a sense opposite to its literal signification, the irony does not cause a ludicrous effect. It rather expresses a feeling of irritation, displeasure, pity or regret. A word used ironically may sometimes express very subtle, almost imperceptible nuances of meaning, as the word "like" in the following lines from "Beppo" by Byron. XLVII I like a parliamentary debate, Particularly when 'tis not too late. XLVIII I like the taxes, when they're not too many; I like a seacoal fire, when not too dear; I like a beef-steak, too, as well as any; Have no objection to a pot of beer; I like the weather, when it is not rainy, That is I like two months of every year. And so God save the Regent, Church and King!

Which means that I like all and everything. In the first line the word 'like' gives only a slight hint of irony. Parliamentary debates are usually long. The word 'debate' itself suggests a lengthy discussion, therefore the word 'like' here should be akin with some reservation. In other words, a hint of the interplay between positive and negative begins with the first 'like'. The second use of the word 'like' is definitely ironical. No one would be expected to like taxes. It is so obvious that no context is necessary to decode the true meaning of 'like'. The attributive phrase 'when they're not too many' strengthens the irony. Then Byron uses the word 'like' in its literal meaning. 'Like' in combinations with 'seacoal fire' and 'a beef-steak' and with 'two months of every year' maintains its literal meaning, although in the phrase "I like the weather" the notion is very general. But the last line again shows that the word 'like' is used with an ironic touch, meaning 'to like' and 'to put up with' simultaneously. Richard Altick says, "The effect of irony lies in the striking disparity between what is said and what is meant."1 This "striking disparity" is achieved through the intentional interplay of the two meanings, which are in opposition to each other. Another important observation must be borne in mind when analysing the linguistic nature of irony. Irony is generally used to convey a negative meaning. Therefore, only positive concepts may be used in their logical dictionary meanings. In the examples quoted above, irony is embodied in such words as 'delightful', 'clever', 'coherent', 'like'. The contextual meaning always conveys the negation of the positive concepts embodied in the dictionary meaning. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.136-144.). INTERACTION OF PRIMARY AND DERIVATIVE LOGICAL MEANINGS Polysemy. Derivative logical meanings have a peculiar property, viz. they always retain some semantic ties with the primary meaning and are strongly associated with it. Most of the derivative logical meanings, when fixed in dictionaries, are usually shown with the words they are connected with and are therefore frequently referred to as bound logical meanings. The primary and derivative meanings are sometimes called free and bound meanings respectively, though some of the derivative meanings are not bound in present-day English. Polysemy is a generic term the use of which must be confined to lexicology as an aspect of the science of language. In actual speech polysemy vanishes unless it

is deliberately retained for certain stylistic purposes. A context that does not seek to produce any particular stylistic effect generally materializes one definite meaning. That is why we state that polysemy vanishes in speech, or language -in -action. Let us analyse the following examples where the key-words are intentionally made to reveal two or more meanings: "Then hate me if thou wilt, if ever now." The verb 'hate' here materializes several meanings. This becomes apparent when one reads sonnet 90 to the end and compares the meaning of this word with other verbs used synonymously. The principal meanings of this word are: 'dislike', 'stop loving', 'become indifferent to', 'feel aversion for', etc. Another example: "Massachusetts was hostile to the American flag, and she would not allow it to be hoisted on her State House." The word 'flag' is used in its primary meaning when it appears in combination with the verb 'to hoist' and in its derivative (or contextual) meaning in the combination 'was hostile to.' Zeugma and Pun. There are special stylistic devices, which make a word materialize two distinct dictionary meanings. They are zeugma and the pun. Zeugma is the use of a word in the same grammatical but different semantic relations to two adjacent words in the context, the semantic relations being on the one hand literal, and on the other, transferred. "Dora, plunging at once into privileged intimacy and into the middle of the room". (B. Shaw) 'To plunge' (into the middle of the room) materializes the meaning 'to rush into' or 'enter impetuously'. Here it is used in its concrete, primary, literal meaning; in 'to plunge into privileged intimacy' the word 'plunge' is used in its transferred meaning. The same can be said of the use of the verbs 'to stain' and 'to lose' in the following lines from Pope's "The Rape of the Lock": "...Whether the- Nymph shall stain her Honour or her new Brocade Or lose her Heart or necklace at a Ball." This stylistic device is particularly favoured in English emotive prose and in poetry. The revival of the original meanings of words must be regarded as an essential quality of any work in the belles-lettres style. A good writer always keeps the chief meanings of words from fading away, provided the meanings are worth being kept fresh and vigorous. Zeugma is a strong and effective device to maintain the purity of the primary meaning when the two meanings clash. By making the two meanings conspicuous in this particular way, each of them stands out clearly. The structure of zeugma may present variations from the patterns given above. Thus in the sentence: "...And May's mother always stood on her gentility; and Dot's mother never stood on anything but her active little feet."

The word 'stood' is used twice. This structural variant of zeugma, though producing some slight difference in meaning, does not violate the principle of the stylistic device. It still makes the reader realize that the two meanings of the word 'stand' are simultaneously expressed, one literal and the other transferred. The pun is another stylistic device based on the interaction of two well-known meanings of a word or phrase. It is difficult to draw a hard and fast distinction between zeugma and fhe pun. The only reliable distinguishing feature is a structural one: zeugma is the realization of two meanings with the help of a verb, which is made to refer to different subjects or objects (direct or indirect). The pun is more independent. There need not necessarily be a word in the sentence to which the pun-word refers. This does not mean, however, that the pun is entirely free. Like any other stylistic device, it must depend on a context. But the context may be of a more expanded character, sometimes even as large as a whole work of emotive prose. Thus, the title of one of Oscar Wilde's plays, "The Importance of Being Earnest" has a pun in it, inasmuch as the name of the hero and the adjective meaning 'seriously-minded' are both present in our mind. Here is another example of a pun where a larger context for its realization is used: "Bow to the board," said Bumble. Oliver brushed away two or three tears that were lingering in his eyes; and seeing no board but the table, fortunately bowed to that.' (Dickens) In fact the humorous effect is caused by the interplay, not of two meanings of one word, but of two words. 'Board' as a group of officials with functions of administration and management and 'board' as a piece of furniture (a table) have become two distinct words. Devices of simultaneously realizing the various meanings of words, which are ot a more subtle character than those embodied in puns and zeugma, are to be found in poetry and poetical descriptions and in speculations in emotive prose. Men-of-letters are especially sensitive to the nuances of meaning embodied in almost every common word, and to make these words live with their multifarious semantic aspects is the task of a good writer. Those who can do it easily are said to have talent. In this respect it is worth subjecting to stylistic analysis words ordinarily perceived in their primary meaning, but which in poetic diction begin to acquire some additional, contextual meaning. This latter meaning sometimes overshadows the primary meaning and it may, in the course of time, cease to denote the primary meaning, the derived meaning establishing itself as the most recognizable one.

-But to deal with these cases means to leave the domain of stylistics and find ourselves in the domain of lexicology. To illustrate the interplay of primary and contextual meanings, let us take a few examples from poetical works: In Robert Frost's poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" the poet, taking delight in watching the snow fall on the woods, concludes his poem in the following words: "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep." The word 'promises' here is made to signify two concepts, viz., 1) a previous engagement to be fulfilled and 2) moral or legal obligation. The plural form of the word as well as the whole context of the poem are convincing proof that the second of the two meanings is the main one, in spite of the fact that in combination with the verb 'to keep' (to keep a promise) the first meaning is more predictable. Here is another example. In Shakespearian sonnet 29 there are the following lines: "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And think upon myself and curse my fate." Almost every word here may be interpreted in different senses: sometimes the differences are hardly perceptible, sometimes they are obviously antagonistic to the primary meaning. But we shall confine our analysis only to the meaning of the word 'cries', which signifies both prayer and lamentation. These two meanings are suggested by the relation of the word 'cries' to 'trouble deaf heaven'. But the word 'cries' suggests not only prayer, it also implies violent prayer as if in deep despair, almost with tears (see the word 'beweep' in the second line of the part of the sonnet quoted). It is very important to be able to follow the author's intention from his manner of expressing nuances of meaning, which are potentially present in the semantic structure of existing words. Those who fail to define the suggested meanings of poetic words will never understand poetry because they are unable to decode the poetic language. In various functional styles of language the capacity of a word to signify several meanings simultaneously manifests itself in different degrees. In scientific prose it almost equals zero. In poetic style this is an essential property. To observe the fluctuations of meanings in the belles-lettres style is not

only important for a better understanding of the purpose or intention of the writer, but also profitable to a linguistic scholar engaged in the study of semantic changes in words. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971,pp.145-148.). INTERACTION OF LOGICAL AND EMOTIVE MEANINGS The emotive meaning or emotional colouring (contextual emotive meaning) of a word, as has already been pointed out elsewhere, plays a considerable role in stylistics. This is mainly due to the fact that no utterance can be understood clearly without its being evaluated from the point of view of the author's attitude towards the things described. In fact the term neutral came to be used in order to distinguish the unemotional communication from the emotional or otherwise distinguishable non-neutral forms of communication. Both words and constructions of an emotional character have a stylistic significance only when they are set against the non-emotional. Thus, for instance, interjections, which are erroneously referred to as parts of speech are, in fact, signals of emotional tension. They must be regarded as expressive means of the language and as such may be effectively used as stylistic devices in the proper context. Interjections and Exclamatory Words. Interjections are words we use when we express our feelings strongly and which may be said to exist in language as conventional symbols of human emotions. The role of interjections in creating emotive meanings has already been dealt with. It remains only to show how the logical and emotive meanings interact and to ascertain their general functions and spheres of application. In traditional grammars the interjection is regarded as a part of speech, alongside other parts of speech, as the noun, adjective, verb, etc. But there is another view, which regards the interjection not as a part of speech, but as a sentence. There is much to uphold this view. Indeed, a word taken separately is deprived of any intonation, which will suggest a complete idea, that is, a pronouncement; whereas an interjection will always manifest a definite attitude on the part of the speaker towards the problem and therefore have intonation. The pauses between words are very brief, sometimes hardly perceptible, whereas the pause between the interjection and the words that follow it is so long, so significant, that it may be equaled to the pauses between sentences. However, a closer investigation into the nature and functions of the interjection proves beyond doubt that the interjection is not a sentence; it is a word with strong emotive meaning. The pauses that frame interjections can be accounted for by the sudden

transfer from the emotional to the logical or vice versa. Further, the definite intonation with which interjections are pronounced depends on the sense of the preceding or following sentence. Interjections have no sentence meaning if taken independently. Let us take some examples of the use of interjections: Oh, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers? (Kipling) The interjection 'oh', by itself may express various feelings, such as regret, despair, disappointment, sorrow, woe, surprise, astonishment, lamentation, entreaty and many others. Here it precedes, a definite sentence and must be regarded as a part of it. It denotes the ardent tone of the question. The 'Oh' here may be regarded, to use the terminology of theory of information, as a signal indicating emotional tension in the following utterance. The same may be observed in the use of the interjection 'oh' in the following sentence from "A Christmas Carol" by Dickens: "Oh! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind-stone, Scrooge." The 'Oh' here is a signal indicating the strength of the emotions of the author, which are further revealed in a number of devices, mostly syntactical, like elliptical sentences, tautological subjects, etc. The meaning of the interjection 'Oh' in the sentence can again be pinned down only from the semantic analysis of the sentence following it and then it becomes clear that the emotion to be understood is one of disgust or scorn. So interjections, as it were, radiate the emotional element over the whole of the utterance, provided, of course, that they precede it. It is interesting to note in passing how often interjections are used by Shakespeare in his sonnets. Most of them serve as signals for the sestet, which is the semantic or/and emotional counterpart to the octave, ' for example: "O, carve not with thy horns ..." (Sonnet 19) "O, Let me, true in love, but..." (21) "O, therefore, love be of thyself..." (22) "O, let my books be, then, the..." (23) "O, then vouchsafe me..." (32) "O, absence, what a torment..." (39) "O, no! thy love, though much..." (61) "O, fearful meditation..." (65) "O, if I say, you look..." (71) "O, lest your true love..." (72)

"O, know, sweet love..." (76) "Ah, do not, when my heart..." (96) Interjections can be divided into primary and derivative. Primary interjections are generally devoid of any logical meaning. Derivative interjections may retain a modicum of logical meaning, though this is always suppressed by the volume of emotive meaning. Oh! Ah! Bah! Pooh! Gosh! Hush! Alas! are primary interjections, though some of them once had logical meaning. 'Heavens!', 'good gracious!', 'dear me!', 'God!', 'Come on!', 'Look here!', 'dear!', 'by the Lord!', 'God knows!', 'Bless me!', 'Humbug!' and many others of this kind are not interjections as such; a better name for them would be exclamatory words generally used as interjections, i. e., their function is that of the interjection. It must be noted here that some adjectives and adverbs can also take on the function of interjections - for example, such words as terrible!, awful!, great!, wonderful!, splendid! fine! and the like. With proper intonation and with an adequate pause such as follows an interjection, these adjectives may acquire a strong emotional colouring and are equal in force to interjections. In that case we may say that some adjectives and adverbs have acquired a grammatical meaning, that of the interjection. Men-of-letters, most of which possess an acute feeling for words, their meaning, sound, possibilities, potential energy, etc., are always aware of the emotional charge of words in a context. An instance of such acute awareness is the following excerpt from Somerset Maugham's "The Razor's Edge" where in a conversation the word 'God' is used in two different senses: first in its logical meaning and then with the grammatical meanings of the interjection: "Perhaps he won't. It's a long arduous road he's starting to travel, but it may be that at the end of it he'll find what he's seeking." "What's that?" "Hasn't it occurred to you? It seems to me that in what he said to you he indicated it pretty plainly. God." "God!" she cried. But it was an exclamation of incredulous surprise. Our use of the same word, but in such a different sense, had a comic effect, so that we were obliged to laugh. But Isabel immediately grew serious again and I felt in her whole attitude something like fear. The change in the sense of the word 'God' is indicated by a mark of exclamation, by the use of the word 'cried' and the words 'exclamation of incredulous surprise, which are ways of conveying in writing the sense carried in the spoken language by the intonation. Interjections always attach a definite modal nuance to the utterance. But it is impossible to define exactly the shade of meaning

contained in a given interjection, though the context may suggest one. Here are some of the meanings that can be expressed by interjections: joy, delight, admiration, approval, disbelief, astonishment, fright, regret, woe, dissatisfaction, ennui (boredom), sadness, blame, reproach, protest, horror, irony, sarcasm, meanness, self-assurance, despair, disgust and many others. Interesting attempts have been made to specify the emotions expressed by some of the interjections. Here are a few lines from Byron's "Don Juan" which may serve as an illustration: "All present life is but an interjection An 'Oh' or 'Ah' of joy or misery, Or a 'Ha! ha!' or 'Bah!' - a yawn or 'Pooh!' Of which perhaps the latter is most true." Interjections like other words in the English vocabulary bear features, which mark them as bookish, neutral or colloquial. Thus oh, ah, Bah, and the like are neutral; alas, egad (euphemism for 'by God'), Lo, Hark are bookish1; gosh, why, well are colloquial. But as with other words in any stratum of vocabulary, the borderline between the three groups is broad and flexible. Sometimes therefore a given interjection may be considered as bookish by one and as neutral by another scholar or colloquial by one and neutral by another. However, the difference between colloquial and bookish will always be clear enough. In evaluating the attitude of a writer to the things, ideas, events and phenomena he is dealing with, the ability of the reader to pinpoint the emotional element becomes of paramount importance. It is sometimes hidden under seemingly impartial description or narrative, and only an insignificant lexical unit, or the syntactical design of an utterance, will reveal the author's mood. But interjections, as has been said, are direct signals that the utterance is emotionally charged, and insufficient attention on the part of the literary critic to the use of interjections will deprive him of a truer understanding of the writer's aims. The Epithet. From the strongest means of displaying the writer's or speaker's emotional attitude to his communication, we now pass to a weaker but still forceful means - the epithet. The epithet is subtle and delicate in character. It is not so direct as the interjection. Some people even consider that it can create an atmosphere of objective evaluation, whereas it actually conveys the subjective attitude of the writer, showing that he is partial in one way or another. The epithet is a stylistic device based on the interplay of emotive and logical meaning in an

attributive word, phrase or even sentence, used to characterize an object and pointing out to the reader, and frequently imposing on him, some of the properties or features of the object with the aim of giving an individual perception and evaluation of these features or properties. The epithet is markedly subjective and evaluative. The logical attribute is purely objective, nonevaluating. It is descriptive and indicates an inherent or prominent feature of the thing or phenomenon in question. Thus in green meadows, white snow, round table, blue skies, pale complexion, lofty mountains and the like, the adjectives are more logical attributes than epithets. They indicate those qualities of the objects, which may be regarded as generally recognized. But in wild, wind, loud ocean, remorseless dash of, billows, formidable wave's, heart-burning smile the adjectives do not point to inherent qualities of the objects described. They are subjectively evaluative. The epithet makes a strong impact on the reader, so much so, that the leader unwittingly begins to see and evaluate things as the writer wants him to. Indeed, in such word combinations as destructive charms, glorious sight, encouraging smile, the interrelation between logical and emotive meanings may be said to manifest itself in different degrees. The word destructive has retained its logical meaning to a considerable extent, but at the same time an experienced reader cannot help perceiving the emotive meaning of the word, which in this combination will signify conquering, irresistible, dangerous. The logical meaning of the word glorious in combination with the word sight has almost entirely faded out. Glorious is already fixed in dictionaries as a word having an emotive meaning alongside its primary, logical meaning. As to the word encouraging (in the combination encouraging smile) it is half epithet and half logical attribute. In fact, it is sometimes difficult to draw a clear line of demarcation between epithet and logical attribute. In some passages the logical attribute becomes so strongly enveloped in the emotional aspect of the utterance that it begins to radiate emotiveness, though by nature it is logically descriptive. Take for example, the adjectives green, white, blue, lofty (but somehow not round) in the combinations given above. In a suitable context they may all have a definite emotional impact on the reader. This is probably explained by the fact that the quality most characteristic of the given object is attached to it, thus strengthening the quality.

Epithets may be classified from different standpoints: semantic and structural. Semantically, epithets may be divided into two groups: those associated with the noun following and those unassociated with it'. Associated epithets are those, which point to a feature, which is essential to the objects they describe: the idea expressed in the epithet is to a certain extent inherent in the concept of the object. The associated epithet immediately refers the mind to the concept in question due to some actual quality of the object it is attached to, for instance 'dark forest', 'dreary midnight', 'careful attention', 'unwearying research', 'indefatigable assiduity', 'fantastic terrors', etc. Unassociated epithet are attributes used to characterize the object by adding a feature not inherent in it, i. e, a feature which may be so unexpected as to strike the reader by its novelty, as for instance, 'heart-burning smile', 'bootless cries', 'sullen earth', 'voiceless sands', etc. The adjectives here do not indicate any property inherent in the objects in question. They impose, as it were, a property on them, which is fitting only in the given circumstances. It may seem strange, unusual, or even accidental. In any combination of words it is very important to observe to what degree the components of the combination are linked. When they are so closely linked that the component parts become inseparable, we note that we are dealing with a set expression. When the link between the component parts is comparatively close, we say there is a stable word combination, and when we can substitute any word of the same grammatical category for the one given, we note what is called a free combination of words. With regard to epithets, this division becomes of paramount importance, inasmuch as the epithet is a powerful means for making the desired impact on the reader, and therefore its ties with the noun are generally contextual. However, there are combinations in which the ties between the attribute and the noun defined are very close, and the whole combination is viewed as a linguistic entity. Combinations of this type appear as a result of the frequent use of certain definite epithets with definite nouns. They become stable word combinations. Examples are: 'bright face', valuable connections, sweet smile', 'unearthly beauty', 'pitch darkness', 'thirsty deserts', 'deep feeling', 'classic example', 'powerful influence', 'sweet perfume' and the like. The predictability of such epithets is very great. The function of epithets of this kind remains basically the same: to show the evaluating, subjective attitude of the writer towards the thing described. But for this purpose the author does not create his own, new, unexpected epithets; he uses ones that have become

traditional, and may be termed "language epithets" as they belong to the languageas-a-system. Thus epithets may be divided into language epithets and speech epithets. Examples of speech epithets are: 'slavish knees', 'sleepless bay.' The process of strengthening the connection between the epithet and the noun may sometimes go so far as to build a specific unit, which does not lose its poetic flavour. Such epithets are called fixed and are mostly used in ballads and folk songs. Here are some examples of fixed epithets: 'true love', 'dark forest', 'sweet Sir', 'green wood', 'good ship, brave cavaliers.' Structurally, epithets can be viewed from the angle of a) composition and b) distribution. From the point of view of their compositional structure epithets may be divided into simple, compound and phrase epithets. Simple epithets are ordinary adjectives. Examples have been given above. Compound epithets are built like compound adjectives. Examples are: 'heart-burning sigh', 'sylph-like figures', 'cloud-shapen giant', "...curly-headed good-for-nothing, And mischiefmaking monkey from his birth." (Byron) The tendency to cram into one language unit as much information as possible has led to new compositional models for epithets, which we shall call phrase epithets. A phrase and even a whole sentence may become an epithet if the main formal requirement of the epithet is maintained, viz. its attributive use. But unlike simple and compound epithets, which may have pre- or post-position, phrase epithets are always placed before the nouns they refer to. An interesting observation in this respect has been made by Prof. O. S. Akhmanova. "The syntactical combinations are, as it were, more explicit, descriptive, elaborate; the lexical are more of an indication, a hint or a clue to some previously communicated or generally known fact, as if one should say: 'You know what I mean and all I have to do now is to point it out to you in this concise and familiar way'." This inner semantic quality of the attributive relations in lexical combinations, as they are called by Prof. Akhmanova, is perhaps most striking in the phrase and sentence epithets. Here the 'concise way' is most effectively used. Here are some examples of phrase epithets: "It is this do-ityourself, go-it-alone attitude that has thus far held back real development of the Middle East's river resources." "Personally I detest her (Gioconda's) smug, mystery-making, come-hither-buf-go-away-agaiti-because-butter-wouldn'tmelt-in-my-mouth expression. "There is a sort of 'Oh-what a-wicked-worldthis-is-and-how-I-wish-I-could-do-somethlng-to-make-it-better-and-nobler'

expression about Montmorency that has been known to bring the tears into the eyes of pious old ladies and gentlemen." "Freddie was standing in front of the fireplace with a 'well-thafs-the-story-what-are-we-going-to-do-about-if air that made him a focal point." An interesting structural detail of phrase epithets is that they are generally followed by the words expression, air, attitude and others, which describe behaviour or facial expression. In other words, such epithets seem to transcribe into language symbols a communication usually conveyed by nonlinguistic means. Another structural feature of such phrase epithets is that after the nouns they refer to, there often comes a subordinate attributive clause beginning with that. This attributive clause, as it were, serves the purpose of decoding the effect of the communication. It must be noted that phrase epithets are always hyphenated, thus pointing to the temporary structure of the compound word. These two structural features have predetermined the functioning of phrase epithets. Practically any phrase or sentence, which deals with the psychological state of a person may serve as an epithet. The phrases and sentences transformed into epithets lose their independence and assume a new quality, which is revealed both in the intonation pattern (that of an attribute) and graphically (by being hyphenated). Another structural variety of the epithet is the one, which we shall term reversed. The reversed epithet is composed of two nouns linked in an ofphrase. The subjective, evaluating, emotional element is embodied not in the noun attribute but in the noun described, for example: "the shadow of a smile"; "a devil of a job" (Maugham); "...he smiled brightly, neatly, efficiently, a military abbreviation of a smile" "A devil of a sea rolls in that bay"; "A little Flying Dutchman of a cab"; "a dog of a fellow"; "her brute of a brother"; "...a long nightshirt of a mackintosh..." It will be observed that such epithets are metaphorical. The noun to be assessed is contained in the of-phrase and the noun it qualifies is a metaphor (shadow, devil, military abbreviation. Flying Dutchman, dog). The grammatical aspect, viz. attributive relation between the members of the combination shows that the SD here is an epithet. It has been acknowledged that it is sometimes difficult to draw a line of demarcation between attributive and predicative relations. Some attributes carry so much information that they may justly be considered bearers of predicativeness. This is particularly true of the epithet, especially genuine or speech epithets, which belong to language-in-action and not to language-as-a-system. These epithets are predicative in essence, though not in form. On the other hand, some word combinations where

we have predicative relations, convey so strongly the emotional assessment of the object spoken of, that in spite of their formal, structural design, the predicatives can be classed as epithets. Here are some examples: 'Fools that they are'; 'Wicked as he is.' The inverted position of the predicatives 'fools' and 'wicked' as well as the intensifying 'that they are' and 'as he is' mark this borderline variety of epithet. Some language epithets, in spite of opposition on the part of orthodox language purists, establish themselves in Standard English as conventional symbols of assessment for a given period. To these belong words we have already spoken of like terrible, awful, massive, top, mighty, crucial. From the point of view of the distribution of the epithets in the sentence, the first model to be pointed out is the string of epithets. Here are a few examples. In his depiction of New York, O. Henry gives the following string of epithets: "Such was the background of the wonderful, cruel, enchanting, bewildering, fatal, great city;" Other examples are: a plump, rosy-cheeked, wholesome apple-faced young woman (Dickens); "a well-matched, fairly-balanced give-and-take couple." As in any enumeration the string of epithets gives a many-sided depiction of the object. But in this manysidedness there is always a suggestion of an ascending order of emotive elements. This can easily be observed in the intonation pattern of a string of epithets. There is generally an ascending scale, which culminates in the last epithet; if the last epithet is a language epithet (great), or not an epithet (young}, the culminating point is the last genuine epithet. The culminating point in the above examples is at fatal, apple-faced, and give-and-take. Another distributional model is the transferred epithet. Transferred epithets are ordinary logical attributes generally describing the state of a human being, but made to refer to an inanimate object, for example: sick chamber, sleepless pillow, restless pace, breathless eagerness, unbreakfasted morning, merry hours, a disapproving finger, Isabel shrugged an indifferent shoulder. As may be seen, it is the force contributed to the attribute by its position, and not by its meaning, that hallows it into an epithet. The main feature of the epithet, that of emotional assessment, is greatly diminished in this model; but it never quite vanishes. The meaning of the logical attributes in such combinations acquires a definite emotional colouring. Language epithets as part of the emotional word stock of the language have a tendency to become obsolescent. That is the fate of many emotional elements in the language. They gradually lose their emotive charge and are replaced by new ones, which in their turn will be replaced by neologisms. Such was the fate of the language epithet

good-natured. In the works of Henry Fielding this epithet appears very often, as for example, 'a good-natured hole', 'good-natured side'. The words vast and vastly were also used as epithets in the works of men-of-letters of the 18th century, as in vast rains, vastly amused The problem of the epithet is too large and too significant to be fully dealt with in a short chapter. Indeed, it may be regarded as the crucial problem in emotive language and correspondingly among the stylistic devices of the language. It remains only to say that the epithet is a direct and straightforward way of showing the author's attitude towards the things described, whereas other stylistic devices, even image-bearing ones, will reveal the author's evaluation of the object only indirectly. That is probably why those authors who wish to show a seeming impartiality and objectivity in depicting their heroes and describing events use few epithets. Realistic authors use epithets much more sparingly, as statistical data have shown. Roughly speaking, Romanticism on the other hand may to some extent be characterized by its abundant use of epithets. In illustration we have taken at random a few lines from a stanza in Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage": The horrid crags, by toppling convent, crowned, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough... Oxymoron is a combination of two words (mostly an adjective and a, noun or an adverb with an adjective) in which the meanings of the two clash, being opposite in sense, for example: 'low skyscraper', 'sweet sorrow', 'nice rascal', 'pleasantly ugly face', 'horribly beautiful', 'a deafening silence from Whitehall'. If the primary meaning of the qualifying word changes or weakens, the stylistic effect of oxymoron is lost. This is the case with what were once oxymoronic combinations, as for example: 'awfully nice, 'awfully glad', 'terribly sorry' and the like, where the words awfully and terribly have lost their primary logical meaning and are now used with emotive meaning, only as intensifiers. The essence of oxymoron consists in the capacity of the primary meaning of the adjective or adverb to resist for some time the overwhelming power of semantic change, which words undergo in combination. The forcible combination of non-combinative words seems to develop what may be called a kind of centrifugal force, which keeps them apart, in contrast to ordinary word combinations where centripetal

force is in action. We have already pointed out that there are different ratios of emotive-logical relations in epithets. In some of them the logical meaning is hardly perceived, in others the two meanings co-exist. In oxymoron the logical meaning holds fast because there is no true word combination, only the juxtaposition of two non-combinative words. But still we may notice a peculiar change in the meaning of the qualifying word. It assumes a new life in oxymoron, definitely indicative of the assessing tendency in the writer's mind. Let us take the following example from O. Henry's story "The Duel" in which one of the heroes thus describes his attitude towards New York. "I despise its very vastness and power. It has the poorest millionaires, the littlest great men, the haughtiest beggars, the plainest beauties, the lowest skyscrapers, the dolefulest pleasures of any town I ever saw." Even the superlative degree of the adjectives fails to extinguish the primary meaning of the adjectives: poor, little, haughty, etc. But by some inner law of word combinations they also show the attitude of the speaker, reinforced, of course, by the preceding sentence: "I despise its very vastness and power." It will not come amiss to express this language phenomenon in terms of the theory of information, which states that though the general tendency of entropy (the measure of the non-organized, also the measure of probability) is to enlarge, the encoding tendency in the language, which strives for an organized system of language symbols reduces entropy. Perhaps this is due to the organizing spirit of the language, i. e. the striving after a system (which in its very essence is an organized whole) that oxymoronic groups, if repeated frequently, lose their stylistic quality and gradually fall into the group of acknowledged word combinations which consists of an intensifier and the concept intensified. Oxymoron as a rule has one structural model: adjective+-noun. It is in this structural model that the resistance of the two component parts to fusion into one unit manifests itself most strongly. In the adverb-adjective model the change of meaning in the first element, the adverb, is more rapid, resistance to the unifying process not being so strong. Sometimes the tendency to use oxymoron is the mark of certain literary trends and tastes. There are poets in search of new shades of meaning in existing words, who make a point of joining together words of contradictory meaning. "Two ordinary words may become almost new," writes V. V. Vinogradov, "if they are joined for the first time or used in an unexpected context." Thus 'peopled desert'; 'populous solitude'; 'proud humility' (Byron) are oxymoronic. Sometimes,

however, the tendency to combine the uncombinative is revealed in structurally different forms, not in adjective-noun models. Gorki criticizes his own sentence: "I suffered then from the fanaticism of knowledge," and calls it "a blunder". He points out that the acquiring of knowledge is not blind as fanaticism is. The syntactic relations here are not oxymoronic. But combinations of this kind can be likened to oxymoron. The same can be said of the following lines from Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: "Fair Greece! sad relic of departed Worth! Immortal, though no more, though fallen, great!" Oxymoronic relations in the italicized part can scarcely be felt, but still the contrary signification is clearly perceived. Such structures may be looked upon as intermediate between oxymoron and antithesis. Not every combination of words, which we have called non-combinative should be regarded as oxymoron, because new meanings developed in new combinations do not necessarily give rise to opposition. They are not infrequently just obscure. Let us take for example the following lines from T. S. Eliot's "The Love-song of Alfred Prufrock." "And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea." Perhaps some readers will find new meanings infused into these common words "hands that lift and drop a question on your plate," but to express them in linguistic terms is so far impossible and probably unnecessary. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.149-160). INTERACTION OF LOGICAL AND NOMINAL MEANINGS Antonomasia. We have already pointed out the peculiarities of nominal meaning. The interplay between logical and nominal meanings of a word is called antonomasia. As in other stylistic devices based on the interaction of lexical meanings, the two kinds of meanings must be realized in the word simultaneously. If only one meaning is materialized in the context there is no stylistic device as in hooligan, boycott and other examples given earlier. Here are some examples of genuine antonomasia.

"Among the herd of journals which are published in the States, there are some, the reader scarcely need be told, of character and credit. From personal intercourse with accomplished gentlemen connected with publications of this class, I have derived both pleasure and profit. But the name of these is Few, and of the other Legion, and the influence of the good is powerless to counteract the mortal poison of the bad. (Dickens). The use of the word 'name' made the author write the words 'Few' and 'Legion' with capital letters. It is very important to note that this device is mainly realized in the written language, because sometimes capital letters are the only signals to denote the presence of the stylistic device. The same can also be observed in the following example from Byron's "Don Juan": "Society is now one polished horde, Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored." In these two examples of the use of antonomasia the nominal meaning is hardly perceived, the logical meaning of the words few, legion, bores, bored being too strong. But there is another point that should be mentioned. Most proper names are built on some law of analogy. Many of them end in -son (as Johnson) or -er (Fletcher). We easily recognize such words as Smith, White, Brown, Green, Fowler and others as proper names. But such names as Miss Blue-Eyes (Carter Brown) or Scrooge or Mr. Zero may be called token or tell-tale names. They give information to the reader about the bearer of the name. The nominal meaning is not intended to give any information about the person. It only serves the purpose of identification. Proper names, i.e., the words with nominal meaning can etymologically, in the majority of cases, be traced to some quality, property or trait of a person, or to his occupation. But this etymological meaning may be forgotten and the word be understood as a proper name and nothing else. It is not so with antonomasia (telltale or token names). Antonomasia is intended to point out the leading, most characteristic feature of a person or event, at the same time pinning this leading trait as a proper name to the person or event concerned. In fact antonomasia is a revival of the initial stage in naming individuals. Antonomasia may be likened to the epithet in essence if not in form. It categorizes the person and thus simultaneously indicates both the general and the particular. Antonomasia is a much favoured device in the belles-lettres style. In an article "What's in a name?", Mr. R. Davis says: "In deciding on names for his characters, an author has an unfair advantage over other parents. He knows so much better how his child will turn out. When Saul Bellow named Augie March, he had already conceived a hero restlessly on the move, marching ahead with august ideas of

himself. Henry James saw in Adam Verver of "The Golden Bowl" a self-made American, sprung from the soil, full of verve and zest for life. In choosing names like 'Murdstone', 'Scrooge', and 'Gradgrind', Dickens was being even more obvious." An interesting literary device to emphasize tell-tale names is employed by Byron in his "Don Juan" where the name is followed or preceded by an explanatory remark as in the following: "Sir John Pottledeep, the mighty drinker." "There was the sage Miss Reading." "And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding." "There was Dick Dubious, the metaphysician, Who loved philosophy and a good dinner; Angle, the soi-disant mathematician; Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner." The explanatory words, as it were, revive the logical meaning of the proper names thus making more apparent the interplay of logical and nominal meanings. The use of antonomasia is now not confined to the belles-lettres style. It is often found in publicistic style, that is in magazine and newspaper articles, in essays and also in military language. The following are examples: "I say this to our American friends. Mr. Facing-Both-Ways does not get very far in this world." "I suspect that the Noes and Dont Knows would far outnumber the Yesses." So far we have dealt with a variety of antonomasia in which common words with obvious logical meaning are given nominal meaning without losing their primary, basic significance. But antonomasia can also make a word, which now has a basic nominal meaning acquire a generic signification, thus supplying the word with an additional logical meaning. The latter can only be deciphered if the events connected with a certain place mentioned or with a conspicuous feature of a person are well known. Thus the word Dunkirk now means 'the evacuation of troops under heavy bombardment before it is too late', Sedan means 'a complete defeat', Coventry - the destruction of a city by air raids', a quizling now means 'a traitor who aids occupying enemy forces'. The spelling of these words demonstrates the stages by which proper nouns acquire new, logical meanings: some of them are still spelt with capital letters (geographical names); others are already spelt with small letters showing that a new word with a primary logical meaning has already come into existence. This variety of antonomasia is not so widely used as a stylistic device, most probably due to the nature of words with nominal meaning: they tell very little or even nothing about the bearer of the name. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.161-164).

INTENSIFICATION OF A CERTAIN FEATURE OF A THING OR PHENOMENON In the third group of stylistic devices, which we now come to, we find that one of the qualities of the object in question is made to sound essential. This is an entirely different principle from that on which the second group is based, that of interaction between two lexical meanings simultaneously materialized in the context. In this third group the quality picked out may be seemingly unimportant, and it is frequently transitory, but for a special reason it is elevated to the greatest importance and made into a telling feature. Simile. The intensification of some feature of the concept in question is realized in a device called simile. Ordinary comparison and simile must not be confused.. They represent two diverse processes. "Comparison means weighing two objects belonging to one class of things with the purpose of establishing the degree of their sameness or difference. To use a simile is to characterize one object by bringing it into contact with another object belonging to an entirely different class of things. Comparison takes into consideration all the properties of the two objects, stressing the one that is compared. Simile excludes all the properties of the two objects except one which is made common to them.' For example, 'The boy seems to be as clever as his mother' is ordinary comparison. 'Boy' and 'mother' belong to the same class of objects - human beings - and only one quality is being stressed to find the resemblance. But in the sentence: "Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare," (Byron), we have a simile. Mardens' and 'moths' belong to heterogeneous classes of objects and Byron has found the concept moth to indicate one of the secondary features of the concept maiden, i. e., to be easily lured. Of the two concepts brought together in the simile - one characterized (maiden)}, and the other characterizing (moth)} - the feature intensified will be more inherent in the latter than in the former. Moreover the object characterized is seen in quite a new and unexpected light, because the writer, as it were, imposes this feature on it. Similes forcibly set one object against another regardless of the fact that they may be completely alien to each other. And without our being aware of it, the simile gives rise to a new understanding of the object characterizing as well as of the object characterized. The properties of an object may be viewed from different angles, for example, its state, its actions, manners, etc. Accordingly, similes may be based on adjective-attributes, adverb-modifiers, verb-predicates, etc. Similes have formal elements in their structure: connective words such as like, as, such as, as if,

seem. Here are some examples of similes taken from various sources and illustrating the variety of structural designs of this stylistic device. "His mind was restless, but it worked perversely and ) thoughts jerked through his brain like the misfirings of a defective carburettor." The structure of this simile is interesting, for it is sustained. Let us analyse it. The word 'jerked' in the microcontext, i. e., in combination with 'thoughts' is a metaphor, which led to the simile 'like the misfirings of a defective carburettor' where the verb to jerk carries its direct logical meaning. So the linking notion is the movement jerking, which brings to the author's mind a resemblance between the working of the man's brain and the badly working, i.e., misfiring carburettor. In other words, it is action that is described by means of a simile. Another example: "It was that moment of the year when the countryside seems to faint from its own loveliness, from the intoxication of its scents and sounds." (J. Galsworthy) This is an example of a simile, which is half a metaphor. If not for the structural word 'seems', we "would call it a metaphor. Indeed, if we drop the word 'seems' and say, "the countryside faints from...," the clue-word 'faint' becomes a metaphor. But the word 'seems' keeps apart the notions of stillness and fainting. It is a simile where the second member - the human being - is only suggested by the word faint. The semantic nature of the simile-forming elements, seem and as if is such that they only remotely suggest resemblance. Quite different are the connectives like and as. These are more categorical and establish quite straightforwardly the analogy between the two objects in question. Sometimes the simile forming like is placed at the end of the phrase almost merging with it and becoming half suffix, for example: "Emily Bartcn was very pink, very Dresden-china-shepherdess' like" In simple non-figurative language, it will assume the following form: "Emily Barton was very pink, and looked like a Dresden-china-shepherdess." Similes may suggest analogies in the character of actions performed. In this case the two members of the structural design of the simile will resemble each other through the actions they perform. Thus: "The Liberals have plunged for entry without considering its effects, while the Labour leaders like cautious bathers have put a timorous toe into the water and promptly withdrawn it." The simile in this passage from a newspaper article 'like cautious bathers' is based on the simultaneous realization of the two meanings of the word 'plunged'. The primary meaning 'to throw oneself into the water'- prompted the figurative

periphrasis 'have put a timorous toe into the water and promptly withdrawn it' standing for 'have abstained from taking action.' In the English language there is a long list of hackneyed similes pointing out the analogy between the various qualities, states or actions of a human being and the animals supposed to be the bearers of the given quality, etc., for example: treacherous as a snake, sly as a fox, busy as a bee, industrious as an ant, blind as a bat, faithful as a dog, to work like a horse, to be led like a sheep, to fly like a bird, to swim like a duck, stubborn as a mule, hungry as a bear, thirsty as a camel, to act like a puppy, playful as a kitten, vain ('proud') as a peacock, slow as a tortoise and many others of the same type. These combinations, however, have ceased to be genuine similes and have become clichs in which the second component has become merely an adverbial intensifier. Its logical meaning is only vaguely perceived. Periphrasis is the re-naming of an object by a phrase that brings out some particular feature of the object. The essence of the device is that it is decipherable only in context. If a periphrastic locution is understandable outside the context, it is not a stylistic device but merely a synonymous expression. Such easily decipherable periphrases are also called traditional, dictionary or language periphrases. The others are speech periphrases. Here are some examples of wellknown dictionary periphrases (periphrastic synonyms): the cap and gown ('student body'); a gentleman of the long robe ('a lawyer'); the fair sex ('women'); my better half ('my wife'). Most periphrastic synonyms are strongly associated with the sphere of their application and the epoch they were used in. Feudalism, for example, gave birth to a cluster of periphrastic synonyms of the word king, as: the leader of hosts; the giver of rings; the protector of earls; the victory lord; a play of swords meant 'a battle'; a battle-seat was 'a saddle'; a shield-bearer was 'a warrior'. Traditional, language or dictionary periphrases and the words they stand for are synonyms by nature, the periphrasis being expressed by a word combination. Periphrasis, as a stylistic device, is a new, genuine nomination of an object, a process which realizes the power of language to coin new names for objects by disclosing some quality of the object, even though it may be transitory, and making it alone represent the object, but at the same time preserving in the mind the ordinary name of the concept. Here are some such stylistic periphrases: "I understand you are poor, and wish to earn money by nursing the little boy, my son, who has been so prematurely deprived of what can never be replaced." The object clause

'what can never be replaced' is a periphrasis for the word mother. The concept is easily understood by the reader within the given context, the latter being the only code, which makes the deciphering of the phrase possible. This is sufficiently proved by a simple transformational operation, viz. taking the phrase out of its context. The meaning of ''what can never be replaced' used independently will bear no reference to the concept mother and may be interpreted in many ways. The periphrasis here expresses a very individual idea of the concept. Here is another stylistic periphrasis, which the last phrase in the sentence deciphers: "And Harold stands upon the place of skulls, The grave of France, the deadly in the following: "The hoarse, dull drum would sleep, And Man be happy yet." (Byron) the periphrasis can only be understood from a larger context, referring to the concept war. 'The hoarse, dull drum' is a metonymical periphrasis standing for war. In some cases periphrasis is regarded as a demerit and should have no place in good, precise writing. This kind of periphrasis is generally called circumlocution. Thus Richard Altick states that one of the ways of obscuring truth "...is the use of circumlocutions and euphemisms." A round-about way of speaking about common things has an unnecessarily bombastic, pompous air and consequently is devoid of any aesthetic value. That is why periphrasis has gained the reputation of leading to redundancy of expression. Here is an example of the excessive use of periphrasis by such an outstanding classic English writer as Dickens: "The lamp-lighter made his nightly failure in attempting to brighten up the street with gas' (= 'lit the street lamps'). In spite of the danger of being called "blasphemer'', I venture to state that Dickens favoured redundant periphrastic expressions, seeing in them a powerful means to impose on his readers his own assessment of events and people. Here is another of his periphrases: "But an addition to the little party now made its appearance" (= 'another person came in'). In characterizing the individual manner of a bad writer, V. G. Belinsky says: "One is particularly struck by the art he displays in the use of periphrasis: one and the same thought, simple and empty as, for example, 'wooden tables are made of wood', drags along in a string of long sentences, periods, tropes and figures of speech; he turns it around and around, extends it pages long and sprinkles it with punctuation marks. Everything is so flowery, everywhere there is such an abundance of epithets and imagery that the

inexperienced reader marvels at these 'purple patches' of jewelled prose,- and his fascination vanishes only when he puts a question to himself as to the content of the flamboyant article: for to his surprise in lieu of any content he finds mere woolly phrases and fluffy self-conceit. This kind of writing often appears in the West, particularly since the West began to rot; here in Russia where authorship has not yet become a habit, such phenomena are hardly possible." The means supplied to enable the reader to decipher stylistic periphrasis are very subtle and have aesthetic value. In the following example the word of address is the key to the periphrasis: "Papa, love. I am a mother. I have a child who will soon call Walter by the name by which 1 call you." In some cases the author relies entirely on the erudition of the reader to decipher the periphrasis. Thus in the following example: "Of his four sons, only two could be found sufficiently without the 'e' to go on making ploughs." The letter 'e' in some proper names is considered an indirect indication of noble or supposed noble descent, cf. Moreton and Morion, Smythe and Smith, Browne and Brown, Wilde (Oscar) and Wyld (Cecil). The italicized phrase is a roundabout way of stating that two of his sons were unaristocratic enough to work at making ploughs. Genuine poetical periphrasis sometimes depicts the effect without mentioning the cause, gives particulars when having in view the general, points out one trait which will represent the whole. Stylistic periphrasis, like almost all lexical stylistic means, must efficiently and intentionally introduce a dichotomy, in this case the dichotomy of two names for one object or idea. If it fails to do so, there is no stylistic device, only a hackneyed phrase. Periphrases, once original but now hackneyed, are often to be found in newspaper language. Mr. J. Donald Adams, who has written a number of articles and books on the use of English words in different contexts, says in one of his articles: "We are all familiar with these examples of distended English, and I shall pause for only one, quoted by Theodore M. Bernstein, who as assistant managing editor of this newspaper acts as guardian over the English employed in its news columns. It appears in his recent book, "Watch Your Language", and reads "Improved financial support and less onerous work loads." Translation (by Clifton Daniel): "High pay and less work." Here is another example of a well-known, traditional periphrasis, which has become established as a periphrastic synonym: "After only a short time of marriage, he wasn't prepared to offer advice to other youngsters intending to tie the knot... But, he said, he's looking forward to having a family". Here we have a

periphrasis meaning to marry ('to tie the knot'). It has long been hackneyed and may be called a cliche. The difference between a cliche and a periphrastic synonym lies in the degree to which the periphrasis has lost its vigour. In cliches we still sense the dichotomy of the original clash between the words forming a semantic unity; in periphrastic synonyms the clash is no longer felt unless the synonyms are subjected to etymological analysis. In such collocations as 'I am seeing things', or 'I'm hearing bells' we hardly ever perceive the novelty of the phrases and are apt to understand them for what they stand for now in modern colloquial English, i. e. to have hallucinations. Therefore, these phrases must be recognized as periphrastic colloquial synonyms of the concepts delirium or hallucinations. Stylistic periphrasis can also be divided into logical and figurative. Logical periphrasis is based on one of the inherent properties or perhaps a passing feature of the object described, as in instruments of destruction = 'pistols'; the most pardonable of human weaknesses = 'love'; the object of his admiration; that proportion of the population which... is yet able to read words of more than one syllable, and to read them without perceptible movement of the lips == 'half-illiterate'). Figurative periphrasis is based either on metaphor or on metonymy, the key-word of the collocation being the word used figuratively as in 'the punctual servant of all work' = the sun; 'in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes' (Shakespeare) = misfortune. There is little difference between metaphor or metonymy on the one hand, and figurative periphrasis on the other. It is the structural aspect of the periphrasis, which always presupposes a word combination, that is the reason for the division. Note this example of a string of figurative periphrases reinforced by the balanced constructions they are moulded into: "Many of the hearts that throbbed so gaily then have ceased to beat; many of the looks that shone so brightly then have ceased to glow." Euphemism. There is a variety of periphrasis, which we shall call euphemistic. Euphemism, as is known, is a word or phrase used to replace an unpleasant word or expression by a conventionally more acceptable one, for example, the word 'to die' has bred the following euphemisms: to pass away, to expire, to be no more, to depart, to join the majority, and the more facetious ones: to kick the bucket, to give up the ghost, /to go west. So euphemisms are synonyms, which aim at producing a deliberately mild effect. The origin of the term euphemism discloses the aim of the device very clearly, i. e. speaking well (from Greek - eu = well +pheme -= speaking). In the vocabulary of any language, synonyms can be found

that soften an otherwise coarse or unpleasant idea. Euphemism is sometimes figuratively called "a whitewashing device". The linguistic peculiarity of euphemism lies in the fact that every euphemism must call up a definite synonym in the mind of the reader or listener. This synonym, or dominant in a group of synonyms, as it is often called, must follow the euphemism like a shadow, as to possess a vivid imagination, or to tell stories in the proper context will call up the unpleasant verb to lie. The euphemistic synonyms given above are part of the language-as-a-system. They have not been freshly invented. They are expressive means of the language and are to be found in all good dictionaries. They cannot be regarded as stylistic devices because they do not call to mind the key word or dominant of the group; in other words, they refer the mind to the concept directly, not through the medium of another word. Compare these euphemisms with the following from Dickens's Pickwick Papers: "They think we have come by this horse in some dishonest manner." The italicized parts call forth the word steal (have stolen it), Euphemisms may be divided into several groups according to their spheres of application. The most recognized are the following: 1) religious, 2) moral, 3) medical and 4) parliamentary. The life of euphemisms is short. They very soon become closely associated with the referent (the object named) and give way to a newly coined word or combination of words, which, being the sign of a sign, throws another veil over an unpleasant or indelicate concept. Here is an interesting excerpt from an article on this subject. "The evolution over the years of a civilized mental health service has been marked by periodic changes in terminology. The madhouse became the lunatic asylum; the asylum made way for the menial hospital - even if the building remained the same. Idiots, imbeciles and the feeble-minded became low, medium and high-grade mental defectives. All are now to be lumped together as patients of severely subnormal personality. The insane became persons of unsound mind, and are now to be mentally-ill patients. As each phrase develops the stigmata of popular prejudice, it is abandoned in favour of another, sometimes less precise than the old. Unimportant in themselves, these changes of name are the signposts of progress." Albert C. Baugh gives another instance of such changes: "...the common word for a woman's undergarment down to the eighteenth century was 'smock'. It was then replaced by the more delicate word 'shift'. In the nineteenth century the same motive lied to the substitution of the word 'chemise" and in the twentieth this has been replaced by 'combinations', 'stepins', and other euphemisms."

It is interesting to remark that shift has now become a name for 'a type of girl's or young woman's outer garment', and smock is 'a little girl's dress', or 'an overgarment worn by artists'. Conventional euphemisms employed in conformity to social usages are best illustrated by the parliamentary codes of expression. In an article headed "In Commons, a Lie is Inexactitude" written by James Feron in The New York Times, we may find a number of words that are not to be used in Parliamentary debate. "When Sir Winston Churchill, some years ago," writes Feron, "termed a parliamentary opponent a 'purveyor of terminological inexactitudes', every one in the chamber knew he meant 'liar'. Sir Winston had been ordered by the Speaker to withdraw a stronger epithet. So he used the euphemism, which became famous and is still used in the Commons. It conveyed the insult without sounding offensive, and it satisfied the Speaker." The author further points out that certain words, for instance traitor and coward, are specifically banned in the House of Commons because earlier Speakers have ruled them as disorderly or unparliamentary. Speakers have decided that jackass is unparliamentary but goose is acceptable; dog, rat and swine are out of order, but halfwit and Tory clot are in order. We also learn from this article that "a word cannot become the subject of parliamentary ruling unless a member directs the attention of the Speaker to it." The problem of euphemism as a linguistic device is directly connected with a more general problem, that of semiotics. The changes in naming objects disclose the true nature of the relations between words and their referents. We must admit that there is a positive magic in words and, as Prof. Randolf Quirk has it, "...we are liable to be dangerously misled through being mesmerized by a word or through mistaking a word for its referent." This becomes particularly noticeable in connection with what are called political euphemisms. These are really understatements, the aim of which is to mislead public opinion and to express what is unpleasant in a more delicate manner. Sometimes disagreeable facts are even distorted with the help of a euphemistic expression. Thus the headline in one of the British newspapers "Tension in Kashmir" was to hide the fact that there was a real uprising in that area; "Undernourishment of children in India" stood for starvation. In A. J. Cronin's novel "The Stars look Down" one of the members of Parliament, speaking of the word combination "Undernourishment of children in India" says: "Honourable Members of the House understand the meaning of this polite euphemism." By calling undernourishment a polite euphemism he discloses the

true meaning of the word. An interesting article dealing with the question of "political euphemisms" was written by the Italian journalist Entzo Rava and headed "The Vocabulary of the Bearers of the Burden of Power." In this article Entzo Rava wittily discusses the euphemisms of the Italian capitalist press, which seem to have been borrowed from the American and English press. Thus, for instance, he mockingly states that capitalists have disappeared from Italy. When the adherents of capitalism find it necessary to mention capitalists, they replace the word capitalist by the combination 'free enterprisers', the word profit is replaced by 'savings', the building up of labour reserves stands for 'unemployment', dismissal (discharge, firing) of workers is 'the reorganization of the enterprise', etc. As has already been explained, genuine euphemism unavoidably calls up the word it stands for. It is always the result of some deliberate clash between two synonyms. If a euphemism fails to carry along with it the word it is intended to replace, it is not a euphemism, but a deliberate veiling of the truth. All these building up of labour reserves, savings, free enterprisers and the like are not intended to give the referent its true name, but to distort the truth. The above expressions serve that purpose. Compare these word combinations with real euphemisms, like a four-letter word (-= 'an obscenity'); or a woman of a certain type (= 'a prostitute, a whore'); 'to glow' (='to sweat') all of which bring to our mind the other word (words) and only through them the referent. Here is another good example of euphemistic phrases used by Galsworthy in his "Silver Spoon." "In private I should merely call him a liar. In the Press you should use the words: 'Reckless disregard for truth' and in Parliament - that you regret he 'should have been so misinformed.' " Periphrastic and euphemistic expressions were characteristic of certain literary trends and even produced a term periphrastic style. But it soon gave way to a more straightforward way of describing things. "The veiled forms of expression," writes G. H. McKnight "which served when one was unwilling to look facts in the face have been succeeded by naked expressions exhibiting reality." Hyperbole is deliberate overstatement or exaggeration, the aim of which is to intensify one of the features of the object in question to such a degree as will show its utter absurdity. The following is a good example of hyperbole: "Those three words (Dombey and Son) conveyed the one idea of Mr. Dombey's life. The earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in and the sun and moon were made to

give them light. Rivers and seas were formed to float their ships; rainbows gave them promise of fair weather; winds blew for or against their enterprises; stars and planets circled in their orbits to preserve inviolate a system of which they were the centre." (Dickens) Another example, which is not so absurd if subjected to logical analysis is this passage from Edgar Allan Poe's poem "Annabel Lee." "And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me." Like many stylistic devices, hyperbole may lose its quality as a stylistic device through frequent repetition and become a unit of the language-as-a-system, reproduced in speech in its unaltered form. Here are some examples of language hyperbole: 'A thousand pardons'; 'scared to death', 'immensely obliged;' Id give the world to see him.' Byron says: "When people say "I've told you fifty times" They mean to scold, and very often do." Hyperbole differs from mere exaggeration in that, it is intended to be understood as an exaggeration. In this connection the following quotations deserve a passing note: "Hyperbole is the result of a kind of intoxication by emotion, which prevents a person from seeing things in their true dimensions... If the reader (listener) is not carried away by the emotion of the writer (speaker), hyperbole becomes a mere lie." V. V. Vinogradov, developing the statement that "genuine art enjoys the right to exaggerate," states that hyperbole is the law of art, which brings the existing phenomena of life, diffused as they are, to the point of maximum clarity and conciseness. Hyperbole is a device, which sharpens the reader's ability to make a logical assessment of the utterance. This is achieved, as is the case with other devices, by awakening the dichotomy of thought and feeling where thought takes the upper hand though not to the detriment of feeling. (I.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.164-175). PECULIAR USE OF SET EXPRESSIONS In language studies there are two very clearly marked tendencies that the student should never lose sight of, particularly when dealing with the problem of word combination. They are 1) the analytical tendency, which seeks to dissever one component from another and 2) the synthetic tendency, which seeks to integrate the parts of the combination into a stable unit. These, two tendencies are

treated in different ways in lexicology and stylistics. In lexicology the parts of a stable lexical unit may be separated in order to make a scientific investigation of the character of the combination and to analyse the components. In stylistics we analyse the component parts in order to get at some communicative effect sought by the writer. It is this communicative effect and the means employed to achieve it that lie within the domain of stylistics. The integrating tendency also is closely studied in the realm of lexicology, especially when linguistic scholars seek to fix what seems to be a stable word combination and ascertain the degree of its stability, its variants and so on. The integrating tendency is also within the domain of stylistics, particularly when the word combination has not yet formed itself as a lexical unit but is in the process of being so formed. A cliche is generally defined as an expression that has become hackneyed and trite. It has lost its precise meaning by constant reiteration; in other words it has become stereotyped. As "Random House Dictionary" has it, "a cliche...'has lost originality, ingenuity, and impact by long over-use..." This definition lacks one point that should be emphasized; that is, a cliche strives after originality, whereas it has lost the aesthetic generating power it once had. There is always a contradiction between what is aimed at and what is actually attained. Examples of real cliches are: rosy dreams of youth, the patter of little feet, deceptively simple. Definitions taken from various dictionaries show that cliche is a derogatory term and it is therefore necessary to avoid anything that may be called by that name. But the fact is that most of the widely recognized word combinations, which have been adopted by the language are unjustly classified as cliches. The aversion for cliches has gone so far that most of the lexical units based on simile are branded as cliches. In an interesting article entitled "Great Cliche Debate" published in the New York Times Magazine we can read the pros and cons concerning cliches. This article is revealing on one main point. It illustrates the fact that an uncertain or vague term will lead to various and even conflicting interpretations of the idea embodied in the term. What, indeed, do the words stereotyped, hackneyed, trite convey to the mind? First of all they indicate that the phrase is in common use. Is this a demerit? Not at all. On the contrary: something common, habitual, devoid of novelty is the only admissible expression in some type^ of communications. In the article just mentioned one of the debators

objects to the phrase "Jack-of-all-trades" and suggests that it should be "one who can turn his hand to any (or to many kinds of) work." His opponent naturally rejects the substitute on the grounds that "Jack of all trades" may, as he says, have long ceased to be vivid or original, but his substitute never was. And it is fourteen words instead of four. "Determine to avoid cliches at all costs and you are almost certain to be led into gobbledygook." Debates of this kind proceed from a grossly mistaken notion that the term cliche is used to denote all stable word combinations, whereas it was coined to denote word combinations which have long lost their novelty and become trite, but which are used as if they were fresh and original and so have become irritating to people who are sensitive to the language they hear and read. What is familiar should not be given a derogatory label. On the contrary, if it has become familiar, that means it has won general recognition and by iteration has been accepted as a unit of the language. But the process of being acknowledged as a unit of language is slow. It is next to impossible to foretell what may be accepted as a unit of the language and what may be rejected and cast away as being unfit, inappropriate, alien to the internal laws of the language, or failing to meet the demand of the language community for stable word combinations to designate new notions. Hence the two conflicting ideas: language should always be fresh, vigorous and expressive, and on the other hand, language, as a common tool for intercommunication should make use of units that are easily understood and which require little or no effort to convey the idea and to grasp it. R. D. Altick in his "Preface to Critical Reading" condemns every word sequence in which what follows can easily be predicted from what precedes. "When does an expression become a cliche? There can be no definite answer, because what is trite to one person may still be fresh to another. But a great many expressions are universally understood to be so threadbare as to be useless except in the most casual discourse... A good practical test is this: If, when you are listening to a speaker, you can accurately anticipate what he is going to say next, he is pretty certainly using cliches, otherwise he would be constantly surprising you." Then he gives examples, like We are gathered here to-day to mourn ('the untimely death') of our beloved leader...; Words are inadequate ('to express the grief that is in our hearts'). "Similarly when you read," he goes on, "if one word almost inevitably invites another, if you can read half of the words and know pretty certainly what the other half are, you are reading cliches." And then again come

illustrations like We watched the flames ('licking') at the side of the building. A pall ('of smoke') hung thick over the neighbourhood...; He heard a dull ('thud') which was followed by an ominous ('silence'). This passage shows that the author has been led into the erroneous notion that everything that is predictable is a cliche. He is confusing useful word combinations circulating in speech as members of the word stock of the language with what claims to be genuine, original and vigorous. All word combinations that do not surprise are labelled as cliches. If we agree with such an understanding of the term, we must admit that the following stable and necessary word combinations used in newspaper language must be viewed as cliches: 'effective guarantees', 'immediate issues', 'the whip and carrot policy', 'statement of policy', 'to maintain some equilibrium between reliable sources', 'buffer zone', 'he laid it down equally clearly that...' and so on. R. D, Altick thus denounces as cliches such verb and noun phrases as 'to live to a ripe old age', 'to withstand the test of time', 'to let bygones be bygones', 'to be unable to see the wood for the trees', 'to upset the applecart', 'to have an ace up one's sleeve'. And finally he rejects such word combinations as 'the full flush of victory', 'the patter of rain', 'part and parcel', 'a diamond in the rough' and the like on the grounds that they have outlasted their freshness. In his protest against hackneyed phrases, Altick has gone so far as to declare that people have adopted phrases like 'clock-work precision', 'tight-lipped (or stony) silence', 'crushing defeat', 'bumper-to-bumper traffic', sky-rocketing costs' and the like "...as a way of evading their obligation to make their own language." Of course, if instead of making use of the existing means of communication, i.e., the language of the community, people are to coin "their own language," then Altick is right. But nobody would ever think such an idea either sound or reasonable. The set expressions of a language are 'part and parcel' of the vocabulary of the language and cannot be dispensed with by merely labelling them cliches. However at every period in the development of a language, there appear strange combinations of words which arouse suspicion as to their meaning and connotation. Many of the new-born word combinations in modern English, both in their American and British variants, have been made fun of because their meaning is still obscure, and therefore they are used rather loosely. Recently in the New York Times such cliches as 'speaking realization', 'growing awareness', 'rising expectations', 'to think unthinkable thoughts' and others were wittily criticized by

a journalist who showed that ordinary rank and file American people do not understand these new word combinations, just as they fail to understand certain neologisms as opt ( 'to make a choice'), and revived words as deem (= 'to consider', 'to believe to be') and others and reject them or use them wrongly. But as history has proved, the protest of too-zealous purists often fails to bar the way to all kinds of innovations into Standard English. Illustrative in this respect is the protest made by Byron in his "Don Juan": "... 'free to confess' - (whence comes this phrase? Is't English? No - 'tis only parliamentary)." and also: "A strange coincidence to use a phrase By which such things are settled nowadays." or "The march of Science (How delightful these cliches are!)..." (Aldington) Byron, being very sensitive to the aesthetic aspect of his native language, could not help observing the triteness of the phrases he comments on, but at the same time he accepts them as ready-made units. Language has its strength and its weaknesses. A linguistic scholar must be equipped with methods of stylistic analysis to ascertain the writer's aim, the situation in which the communication takes place and possibly the impact on the reader to decide whether or not a phrase is a cliche or "the right word in the right place." If he does not take into consideration all the properties of the given word or word combination, the intricacies of language units may become a trap for him. Men-of-letters, if they are real artists, use the stock of expressive phrases contained in the language naturally and easily, and well known phrases never produce the impression of being cliches. Here are a few examples taken from various sources: "Suzanne, excited, went on talking nineteen to the dozen." (Maugham) "She was unreal, like a picture and yet had an elegance which made Kitty feel all thumbs." (Maugham) "Because the publisher declares in sooth Through needles' eyes it easier for the camel is to pass, than those two cantos into families." (Byron) "Redda had that quality... found in those women who... put all their eggs in one basket." (Galsworthy) "As the last straw breaks the laden camel's back, this piece of underground information crushed the sinking spirits of Mr. Dombey." (Dickens)

Proverbs and Sayings

Almost every good writer will make use of language idioms, by-phrases and proverbs. They are the natural ways in which speech develops. Proverbs and sayings have certain purely linguistic features, which must always be taken into account in order to distinguish them from ordinary sentences. Proverbs are brief statements showing in condensed form the accumulated life experience of the community and serving as conventional practical symbols for abstract ideas. They are usually didactic and image bearing. Many of them through frequency of repetition have became polished and wrought into verse-like shape, i.e., they have metre, rhyme and alliteration, as in the following: "to cut one's coat according to one's cloth." "Early to bed and early to rise, Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." Brevity in proverbs manifests itself also in the omission of connectives, as in: "First come, first served." "Out of sight, out of mind." But the main feature distinguishing proverbs and sayings from ordinary utterances remains their semantic aspect. Their literal meaning is suppressed by what may be termed their transferred meaning. In other words, one meaning (literal) is the form for another meaning (transferred), which contains the idea. Proverbs and sayings are the concentrated wisdom of the people, and if used appropriately, will never lose their freshness and vigour. The most noticeable thing about the functioning of sayings, proverbs and catch phrases is that they may be handled not in their fixed form (the traditional model) but with modifications. These modifications, however, will never break away from the invariants to such a degree that the correlation between 1 Note that in the above quotations, except in the first, a well-known saying, proverb or quotation has been slightly altered in form. The traditional forms are as follows: "My fingers are all thumbs." "It is easier for a camel to pass through a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of Heaven." (Bible) "Don't put all your eggs into one basket." "It's the last straw that breaks the camel's back." The invariant model of a word combination and its variant ceases to be perceived by the reader. The predictability of a variant of a word combination is lower in comparison with its invariant. Therefore, the use of such a unit in a modified form will always arrest our attention, causing a much closer examination of the wording of the utterance in order to get at the idea. Thus, the proverb 'all is not gold that

glitters' appears in Byron's Don Juan in the following form and environ-meat where at first the meaning may seem obscure: "How all the needy honourable misters, Each out-at-elbow peer or desperate dandy, The watchful mothers, and the careful sisters (Who, by the by, when clever, are more handy At making matches where "tis gold that glisters" Than their he relatives), like flies o'er candy Buzz round the Fortune with their busy battery, To turn her head with waltzing and with flattery." Out of the well-known proverb Byron builds a periphrasis, the meaning of which is deciphered two lines below: 'the Fortune', that is, 'a marriageable heiress'). It has already been pointed out that Byron is fond of playing with stable word combinations, sometimes injecting new vigour into the components, sometimes entirely disregarding the g e s t a l t. In the following lines, for instance, each word of the phrase safe and sound gets its full meaning. "I leave Don Juan for the present, safe Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded;" The proverb: Hell is paved with good intentions and the set expression: to mean well are used by Byron in a peculiar way, thus making the reader appraise the hackneyed phrases. "............. if he warr'd Or loved, it was with what we call the best Intentions, which form all mankind's trump card, To be produced when brought up to the test. The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer - ward Off each attack, when people are in quest Of their designs, by saying they meant well. 'Tis pity that such meaning should pave hell." We shall take only a few of the numerous examples of the stylistic use of proverbs and sayings to illustrate the possible ways of decomposing the units in order simply to suggest the idea behind them: "Come!" he said, "milk's spilt." (Galsworthy) from It is no use crying over spilt milk!'). "But to all that moving experience there had been a shadow (a dark lining to the silver cloud), insistent and plain, which disconcerted her." (Maugham) (from

'Every cloud has a silver lining'). "We were dashed uncomfortable in the frying pan, but we should have been a damned sight worse off in the fire." (Maugham) (from 'Out of the frying-pan into the fire'). "You know which side the law's buttered." (Galsworthy) (from 'His bread is buttered on both sides'). This device is used not only in the belles-lettres style. Here are some instances from newspapers and magazines illustrating the stylistic use of proverbs, sayings and other word combinations "...and whether the Ministry of Economic Warfare is being allowed enough financial rope to do its worst" (from 'Give a thief rope enough and he'll hang himself). "The waters will remain sufficiently troubled for somebody's fishing to be profitable" (Economist) (from 'It is good fishing in troubled waters'). One of the editorials had the following headline: "Proof of the Pudding" (from 'The proof of the pudding is in the eating') Here is a recast of a well-known proverb used by an advertizing agency: "Early to bed and early to rise No use - unless you advertize" (from 'Early to bed and early to rise Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise') Uses of language set expressions such as these should not lead to the inference that stylistic effects can only be reached by introducing all kinds of changes into the invariant of the unit. The efficient use of the invariant of proverbs, sayings, etc. will always make both spoken and written language emotional, concrete, figurative, catching and lively. It will call forth a ready impact and the desired associations on the part of the hearer or reader. Modified forms of the unit require great skill in handling them and only few have the power and therefore the right to violate the fixed idiom. Epigrams. An epigram is a stylistic device akin to a proverb, the only difference being, that epigrams are coined by individuals, whose names we know, while proverbs are the coinage of the people. In other words, we are always aware of the parentage of an epigram and therefore, when using one, we usually make a reference to its author. Epigrams are terse, witty, pointed statements, showing the ingenious turn of mind of the originator. They always have a literary-bookish air about them that distinguishes them from proverbs. Epigrams possess a great degree of independence and therefore, if taken out of the context, will retain the wholeness of the idea they express. They have a generalizing function. The most characteristic feature of an epigram is that the sentence gets accepted as a word combination and

often becomes part of the language as a whole. Like proverbs, epigrams can be expanded to apply to abstract notions (thus embodying different spheres of application). Brevity is the essential quality of the epigram. A. Chekhov once said that brevity is the sister of talent; 'Brevity is the soul of the wit holds true of any epigram. Epigrams are often confused with aphorisms and paradoxes. It is difficult to draw a demarcation line between them, the distinction being very subtle. Real epigrams are true to fact and that is why they win general recognition and acceptance. Let us turn to examples. Somerset Maugham in "The Razor's Edge" says: "Art is triumphant when it can use convention as an instrument of its own purpose." This statement is interesting from more than one point of view. It shows the ingenious turn of mind of the writer, it gives an indirect definition of art as Maugham understands it, it is complete in itself even if taken out of the context. But still this sentence is not a model epigram because it lacks one essential quality, viz. brevity. It is too long and therefore cannot function in speech as a ready-made language unit. Besides, it lacks other features, which are inherent in epigrams and make them similar to proverbs, i.e., rhythm, alliteration and often rhyme. It cannot be expanded to other spheres of life, it does not generalize. Compare this sentence with the following used by the same author in the same novel. "A God that can be understood is no God." This sentence seems to meet all the necessary requirements of the epigram: it is brief, generalizing, witty and can be expanded in its application. The same applies to Byron's "...in the days of old men made manners; Manners now make men" ("Don Juan") or Keats' "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Writers who seek aesthetic precision use the epigram abundantly; others use it to characterize the hero of their work. Somerset Maugham is particularly fond of it and many of his novels and stories abound in epigrams. Here are some from "The Painted Veil." "He that bends shall be made straight." "Failure is the foundation of success and success is the lurking place of failure..." "Mighty is he who conquers himself." There are utterances, which in form are epigrammatic - these are verses and in particular definite kinds of verses. The last two lines of a sonnet are called epigrammatic because according to the semantic structure of this form of verse, they sum up and synthesize what has been said before. The heroic couplet, a special compositional form of verse, is also a suitable medium for epigrams, for instance

"To observations which ourselves, we make, We grow more partial for th' observer's sake." There are special dictionaries, which are called "Dictionaries of Quotations." These in fact, are mostly dictionaries of epigrams. What is worth quoting must always contain some degree of the generalizing quality and if it comes from a work of poetry will have metre (and sometimes rhyme). That is why the works of Shakespeare, Pope, Byron and many other great English poets are said to be full of epigrammatic statements. The epigram is in fact syntactical whole, though a syntactical whole need not necessarily be epigrammatic. As is known, poetry is epigrammatic in its essence. It always strives for brevity of expression, leaving to the mind of the reader the pleasure of amplifying the idea. Byron's "The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore," is a strongly worded epigram, which impresses the reader with its generalizing truth. It may of course be regarded as a syntactical whole, inasmuch as it is semantically connected with the preceding lines and at the same time enjoys a considerable degree of independence. Quotations. A quotation is a repetition of a phrase or statement from a book, speech and the like used by way of authority, illustration, proof or as a basis for further speculation on the matter in hand. By repeating a passage in a new environment, we attach to the utterance an importance it might not have had in the context whence it was taken. Moreover, we give it the status, temporary though it may be, of a stable language unit. What is quoted must be worth quoting, since a quotation will inevitably acquire some degree of generalization. If repeated frequently, it may be recognized as an epigram, if, of course, it has at least some of the linguistic properties of the latter. Quotations are usually marked off in the text by inverted commas (" "), dashes (-), italics or other graphical means. They are mostly used accompanied by a reference to the author of the quotation, unless he is well known to the reader or audience. The reference is made either in the text or in a foot-note and assumes various forms, as for instance: "as (so and so) has it"; "(So and so) once said that"...; "Here we quote (so and so)" or in the manner the reference to Emerson has been made in the epigraph to this chapter. A quotation is the exact reproduction of an actual utterance made by a certain author. The work containing the utterance

quoted must have been published or at least spoken in public; for quotations are echoes of somebody else's words. Utterances, when quoted, undergo a peculiar and subtle change. They are rank and file members of the text they belong to, merging with other sentences in this text in the most natural and organic way, bearing some part of the general sense the text as a whole embodies; yet, when they are quoted, their significance is heightened and they become different from other parts of the text. Once quoted, they are no longer rank-and-file units. If they are used to back up the idea expressed in the new text, they become "parent sentences" with the corresponding authority and respect and acquire a symbolizing function; in short, they not infrequently become epigrams, for example, Hamlet's "To be or not to be!" A quotation is always set against the other sentences in the text by its greater volume of sense and significance. This singles it out particularly if frequently repeated, as an utterance worth committing to memory generally is. The use of quotations presupposes a good knowledge of the past experience of the nation, its literature and culture. The stylistic value of a quotation lies mainly in the fact that it comprises two meanings: the primary meaning, the one, which it has in its original surroundings, and the applicative meaning, i.e., the one, which it acquires in the new context. Quotations, unlike epigrams, need not necessarily be short. A whole paragraph or a long passage may be quoted if it suits the purpose. It is to be noted, however, that sometimes in spite of the fact that the exact wording is used, a quotation in a new environment may assume a new shade of meaning, a shade necessary or sought by the quoter, but not intended by the writer of the original work. A quotation from Byron's "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" will be. apt as a comment here: "With just enough of learning to misquote." Here we give a few examples of the use of quotations. "Socrates said, our only knowledge was "To know that nothing could be known" a pleasant Science enough, which levels to an ass Each man of Wisdom, future, past or present. Newton (that proverb of the mind) alas! Declared with all his grand discoveries recent That he himself felt only "like a youth Picking up shells by the great ocean - Truth." (Byron) "Ecclesiastes said, "that all is vanity" - Most modern preachers say the same, or show it By their examples of the Christianity..." (Byron)

Quotations are- used as a stylistic device, as is seen from these examples, with the aim of expanding the meaning of the sentence quoted and setting two meanings one against the other, thus modifying the original meaning. In this quality they are used mostly in the belles-lettres style. Quotations used in other styles of speech allow no modifications of meaning, unless actual distortion of meaning is the aim of the quoter. Quotations are also used in epigraphs. The quotation in this case possesses great associative power and calls forth much connotative meaning. Allusions. An allusion is an indirect reference, by word or phrase, to a historical, literary, mythological, biblical fact or to a fact of everyday life made in the course of speaking or writing. The use of allusion presupposes knowledge of the fact, thing or person alluded to on the' part of the reader or listener. As a rule no indication of the source is given. This is one of the notable differences between quotation and allusion. Another difference is of a structural nature: a quotation must repeat the exact wording of the original even though the meaning may be modified by the new context; an allusion is only a mention of a word or phrase, which may be regarded as the key-word of the utterance. An allusion has certain important semantic peculiarities, in that the meaning of the word (the allusion) should be regarded as a form for the new meaning. In other words, the primary meaning of the word or phrase which is assumed to be known (i.e., the allusion) serves as a vessel into which new meaning is poured. So here there is also a kind of interplay between two meanings. Here is a passage in which an allusion is made to the coachman, Old Mr. Weller, the father of Dickens's famous character, Sam Weller. In this case the nominal meaning is broadened into a generalized concept: "Where is the road now, and its merry incidents of life!.. old honest, pimple-nosed coachmen? I wonder where are they, those good fellows? Is old Weller alive or dead?" (Thackeray) The volume of meaning in this allusion goes beyond the actual knowledge of the character's traits. Even the phrases about the road and the coachmen bear indirect reference to Dickens's "Pickwick Papers." Here is another instance of allusion, which requires a good knowledge of mythology, history and geography if it is to be completely understood. "Shakespeare talks of the herald Mercury Noun lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; And some such visions cross'd her majesty While her young herald knelt before her still. 'Tis very true the hill seem'd rather high, For a lieutenant to climb up; but skill Smoothed even the Simplon's steep, and by God's

blessing With youth and health all kisses are heaven-kissing." (Byron) Mercury, Jupiter's messenger, is referred to here because Don Juan brings a dispatch to Catherine II of Russia and is therefore her majesty's herald. But the phrase "...skill smooth'd even the Simplon's steep..." will be quite incomprehensible to those readers who do not know that Napoleon built a carriage road near the village of Simplon in the pass 6590 feet over the Alps and founded a. hospice at the summit. Then the words 'Simplon's steep' become charged with significance and implications which now need no further comment. Allusions are based on the accumulated experience and the knowledge of the writer who presupposes a similar experience and knowledge in the reader. But the knowledge stored in our minds is called forth by an allusion in a peculiar manner. Ail kinds of associations we may not yet have realized cluster round the facts alluded to. Illustrative in this respect is the quotation-allusion made in Somerset Maugham's novel "The Painted Veil". The last words uttered by the dying man are "The dog it was that died." These are the concluding lines of Goldsmith's "Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog." Unless the reader knows the Elegy, he will not understand the implication embodied in this quotation. Consequently the quotation here becomes an allusion, which runs through the whole plot of the novel. Moreover the psychological tuning of the novel can be deciphered only by drawing a parallel between the poem and the plot of the novel. The main character is dying, having failed to revenge himself upon his unfaithful wife. He was punished by death for having plotted evil. This is the inference to be drawn from the allusion. The following passage from Dickens's "Hard Times" will serve to prove how remote may be the associations called up by an allusion. "No little Grandgrind had ever associated a cow in a field with that famous cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt, or with that yet more famous cow that swallowed Tom Thumb; it had never heard of those celebrities." The meaning that can be derived from the two allusions, one to the nursery rhyme "The House that Jack built" and the other to the old tale "The History of Tom Thumb" is the following: No one was permitted to teach the little Grandgrind children the lively, vivid nursery rhymes and tales that every English child knows by heart. They were subjected to nothing but dry abstract drilling. The word cow in the two allusions becomes impregnated with concrete meaning set against the abstract meaning of cow-in-a- field, or cow-in-general. To put it into the terms of theoretical

linguistics, cow-in-a-field refers to the nominating rather than to the signifying aspect of the word. Allusions and quotations may be termed nonce-set-expressions because they are used only for the occasion. Allusion, as has been pointed out, needs no indication of the source. It is assumed to be known. Therefore most allusions are made to fact;-with which the general reader should be familiar. However allusionsare sometimes made to things and facts, which need commentary before they are understood. To these belongs the allusion-paradox, for example: "A nephew called Charlie is something I can't Put up with at all since it makes me his aunt." The allusion here is made to a well-known play and later film called "Charlie's Aunt" in which a man is disguised as a woman. Allusions are used in different styles, but their function is everywhere the same. The deciphering of an allusion, however, is not always easy. In newspaper headlines allusions may be decoded at first glance as, for instance: " 'Pie in the sky' for Railmen" Most people in the USA and Britain know the refrain of the workers' song: "You'll get pie in the sky when you die." The use of part of the sentence-refrain implies that the railmen had been given many promises but nothing at the present moment. Linguistically the allusion 'pie in the sky' assumes a new meaning, viz., nothing but promises. Through frequency of repetition it may enter into the word stock of the English language as a figurative synonym. Decomposition of Set Phrases (Deformation of Idioms) Linguistic fusions are set phrases, the meaning of which is understood only from the combination as a whole, as to pull a persons leg or to have something at one's finger tips. The meaning of the whole cannot be derived from the meanings of the component parts. The stylistic device of decomposition of fused set phrases consists in reviving the independent meanings, which make up the component parts of the fusion. In other words it makes each word of the combination acquire its literal meaning, which, of course, in many cases leads to the realization of an absurdity. Here is an example of this device as employed by Dickens: "Mind! I don't mean to say that I know of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead, about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it or the Country's done for. You will, therefore, permit me to repeat emphatically that Marley was as dead as a door-nail." (Dickens)

As is seen in this excerpt, the fusion 'as dead as a door-nail', which simply means completely dead is decomposed by being used in a different structural pattern. This causes the violation of the generally recognized meaning of the combination, which has grown into a mere emotional intensifier. The reader, being presented with the parts of the unit, becomes aware of the meaning of the parts, which, be it repeated, have little in common with the meanings of the whole. When as Dickens does, the unit is re-established in its original form, the phrase acquires a refreshed vigour and effect, qualities important in this utterance because the unit itself was meant to carry the strongest possible proof that the man was actually dead. Another example from the same story: "Scrooge had often heard it said that money had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now." The bowels (guts, intestines) were supposed to be the seat of the emotions of pity and compassion. But here Dickens uses the phrase 'to have no bowels' in its literal meaning: Scrooge is looking at Marley's ghost and does not see any intestines. In the sentence "It was raining cats and dogs, and two kittens and a puppy landed on my window-sill" (Chesterton) the fusion 'to rain cats and dogs' is refreshed by the introduction of "kittens and a puppy," which changes the unmotivated combination into a metaphor, which in its turn is sustained. The expression 'to save one's bacon' means to escape from injury or loss. Byron in his "Don Juan" decomposes this unit by setting it against the word hog in its logical meaning: "But here I say the Turks were much mistaken, Who hating hogs, yet wish'd to save their bacon." Byron particularly favoured the device of simultaneous materialization of two meanings: the meaning of the whole set phrase and the independent meanings of its components, with the result that the independent meanings unite anew and give the whole a fresh significance. Here is a good example of the effective use of this device. The poet mocks at the absurd notion of idealists who deny the existence of every kind of matter whatsoever: "When Bishop Berkley said: "there was no matter" And proved it - 'twas no matter what he said." (Byron) (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M.,1971, pp.175-189). PRACTICAL EXERCISES A. Stylistic Devices Based on the Interaction Between the Logical and Nominal Meanings of a Word. Antonomasia

Exercise 1. Discuss the interaction between the nominal and the contextual logical meanings and the associations caused by the latter in the following examples of antonomasia. 1. Kate kept him because she knew he would do anything in the world if he were paid to do it or was afraid not to do it. She had no illusions about him. In her, business Joes were necessary. 2. In the dining-room stood a sideboard laden with glistening decanters and other utilities and ornaments in glass, the arrangement of which could not be questioned. Here was something Hurstwood knew about ... He took no little satisfaction in telling each Mary, shortly after she arrived, something of what the art of the thing required. 3. (The actress is all in tears). Her manager: "Now what's all this Tosca stuff about?" 4. "Christ, it's so funny I could cut my throat. Madame Bovary at Columbia Extension School!" 5. "You'll be helping the police, I expect," said Miss Cochran. "I was forgetting that you had such a reputation as Sherlock." 6. Duncan was a rather short, broad, dark-skinned taci| turn Hamlet of a fellow with straight black hair. 7. Every Caesar has his Brutus. Exercise II. State the role of the context in the realization of the-u logical meaning of a word (or a word combination) inf the following examples of antonomasia, commenting^ also on their structure. 1. Lady Teazle: Oh! I am quite undone! What will become of me? Now, Mr. Logic-Oh? mercy, sir, he's on the stairs. 2. Her mother said angrily, "Stop making jokes. I don't know what you're thinking of. What does Miss Fancy think she's going to do?" "I don't know yet." said Cathy. 3. Lucy: So, my_dear Simplicity, let me give you a little respite. s . (Sh.) 4. . . we sat down at a table with two girls in yellow and three men, each one introduced to us as Mr. Mumble. 5. The next speaker was a tall gloomy man, Sir Something Somebody. 6. . . .she'd been in a bedroom with one of the young Italians, Count Something. . . 7. Then there's that appointment with Mrs. What's-her-name for her bloody awful wardrobe. 8. That What's-his- name-the rodeo rider was working the Stinson rodeo with you last year. 9. Hey, pack it in, ole Son, Mister What's-hisname'll be here soon to have a look at this squatting chair of his. 10. "A bit of village gossip. Mrs. Somebody or other's Ernie . . . had to go with his mother to" the police station, 11. .. .He's a big chap. Well, you've never heard so many wellbred commonplaces come from beneath the same bowler hat. The Platitude from Outer Space-that's brother Nigel. Hell end up in the Cabinet one day make no mistake. 12. The average man, Mr. Average Man, Mr. Taxpayer, as drawn by Rollin Kirby looks the average New York man making more than 5000 dollars a

year, 13. This was Washingmachine Charley, or Louie the Louse as he was also called with less wit. All of them had heard about him of course: the single plane who nightly made his single nuisance raid, and who had been nicknamed by the stouthearted American troops. This information was in all news communiques. And in fact, because of the great height, the sound did resemble the noise made by an antiquated, onelung Maytag washer. But the nickname proved to be generic. 14. "Rest, my dear,-rest. That's one of the most important things. There are three doctors in - an illness like yours," he laughed in anticipation of his own joke. "I don't mean only myself, my partner and the radiologist who does your X-rays, the three I'm referring to are Dr. Rest, Dr. Diet and Dr. Fresh Air." Exercise III. Indicate the leading feature of the personages characterized by the following "speaking names". Mr. Gradgrind (D.); Mr. Qoldfinger (Fl.); Becky Sharp (Th.); Bosinney the Bucanneer (G.); Lady Teazle, Joseph Surface, Mr. Carefree, Miss Languish, Mr. Backbite, Mr. Snake, Mr. Credulous (Sh.); Holiday Golightly (T.C.); Mr. Butt, Mrs. Newrich, Mr. Beanhead (L.) Stylistic Devices Based on the Interaction Between Two Logical Meanings of a Word (1) Metaphor Exercise I. Discuss the structure, grammatical category and syntactical functions of metaphors in the following examples. 1. The clock had struck, time was bleeding away. 2. Dance music was bellowing from the open door of the Cadogan's cottage. 3. There had been rain in the night, and now all the trees were curtseying to a fresh wind . . . 4. She took a Bible from the shelf, and read; then, laying it down, thought of the summer days and the bright spring-time that would come, of the sweet air that would steal in ... 5. "Will he ever come down those stairs again?" This"! thought lanced Constance's heart. 6. Another night, deep in the summer, the heat of my room sent me out into the streets. 7. . . .every hour in every day she could wound his pride. 8. Money burns a hole in my pocket. 9. . . The world was tipsy with its own perfections. Exercise II. Differentiate between genuine and trite metaphors. |1. In the spaces between houses the wind caught her.' It stung, it gnawed at nose and ears and aching cheeks, and she hastened from shelter to shelter . . . 2. Swan had taught him much. The great kindly Swede had taken him under his wing. 3. It being his habit not to jump or leap, or make an upward spring, at anything in life, but to crawl at

everything. 4. Then would come six or seven good years when there might be 20 to 25 inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. 5.The laugh in her eyes died out and was replaced by something else. 6. Death is at the end of that devious, winding maze of paths . . . 7. Neither Mr. Povey nor Constance introduced the delicate subject to her again, and she had determined; not to be the first to speak of it. . So the matter hung, as it were, suspended in the ether between the opposing forces of pride and passion. 8. . . .her expression, an unrealized yawn, put, by example, a damper on the excitement I felt over dining at so swanky a place. 9. Battle found his way to the Blue morning-room without difficulty. He was already familiar with the geography of the house. 10. It was a ladylike yawn, a closedmouth yawn, but you couldn't miss it; her nostril-wings gave her away. Exercise III. State the number and quality of simple metaphors comprizing the following sustained metaphors. 1. The stethoscope crept over her back. "Cough ... Breathe . . ." Tap, tap. What was he hearing? What changes were going on in her body? What was her lung telling him through the thick envelope of her flesh, througli the wall of her ribs and her shoulders? 2. The artistic centre of Galloway is Kirkcudbright, where the painters form a scattered constellation, whose nucleus is in the High Street, and whose outer stars twinkle in remote hillside cottages, radiating brightness as far as gatehouse of Fleet. 3. The slash of sun on the wall above him slowly knifes down, cuts across his chest, becomes a coin on the floor and vanishes. 4. His countenance beamed with the most sunny smiles; laughter played around his lips, and good-humoured merriment twinkled in his eye. 5. The music came to him across the now bright, now dull, slowly burning cigarette of each man's life, telling him its ancient secret of all men, intangible, unfathomable defying long-winded description . . . 6. She had tripped into the meadow to teach the lambs a pretty educational dance and found that the lambs were wolves. There was no way out between their pressing gray shoulders. She was surrounded by fangs and sneering eyes. She could not go on enduring the hidden derision. She wanted to flee. She wanted to hide in the generous indifference of cities. 7. As he walks along Potter Avenue the wires at their silent height strike into and through the crowns of the breathing maples. At the next corner, where the water from the ice-plant used to come down, sob into a drain, and reappear on the other side of the street. Rabbitt crosses over and walks beside the gutter where the water used to run coating the shallow side of its course with ribbons of green slime waving and waiting to slip under your feet and dunk you if you dared walk on them. 8. I have

been waiting to talk to you-to have you to myself, no less-until I could chase my new book out of the house. I thought it never would go. Its last moments lingered on and on. It got up, turned again, took off its gloves, again sat down, reached the door, came back until finally M. marked it down, lassoed it with a stout string and hurled it at Pinker. Since then there's been an ominous silence. 9. His dinner arrived, a plenteous platter of food - but no plate. He glanced at his neighbors. Evidently plates were an affectation frowned upon in the Oasis. Taking up a tarnished knife and fork, he pushed aside the underbrush of onions and came face to face with his steak. First impressions are important, and Bob Eden knew at once that this was no meek, complacent opponent that confronted him. The steak looked back at him with an air of defiance that was amply justified by what followed. After a few moments of unsuccessful battling, he summoned the sheik. "How about a steel knife?" he inquired. "Only got three and they're all in use," the waiter replied. Bob Eden resumed the battle, his elbows held close, his muscles swelling. With set teeth and grim face he bore down and cut deep. There was a terrific screech as his knife skidded along the platter, and to his horror he saw the steak rise from its bed of gravy and onions and fly from him. It traveled the grimy counter for a second, then dropped on to the knees of the girl and thence to the floor. Eden turned to meet her blue eyes filled with laughter. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I thought it was a steak, and it seems to be a lap dog." 10. Directly he saw those rolling chalk hills he was conscious of a difference in himself and in them. The steaming stew-pan that was London was left to simmer under its smoky sky, while these great rolling spaces sunned themselves as they had sunned themselves in the days of the Barrow men. Exercise IV. Speak about the role of the context in the creation of the image through a metaphor. 1.There, at the very core of London, in the heart of 1'ts business and animation, in the midst of a whirl of noise and notion . . . stands Newgate. 2. England has two eyes, Oxford and Cambridge. They are the two eyes of England, and two intellectual eyes, 3. Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour. 4. It appears to her that I am for the passing time the cat of the house, the friend of the family. 5. Sunshine, the old clown, rims the door. 6. The waters have closed above your head, and the world has closed upon your miseries and misfortunes for ever.

Exercise V. Analyse the following cases of personification. 1. On this dawn of October, 1885, she stood by her kitchen window . . . watching another dismal and rainy day emerge from the womb of the expiring night. And such an ugly, sickly-looking baby she thought it was that, so far as she was concerned, it could go straight back where it came from. 2. He was fainting from sea-sickness, and a roll of the ship tilted him over the rail on to the smooth lip of the deck. Then a low, gray mother-wave swung out of the fog, tucked Harvey under one arm, solo speak, and pulled him off and away to lee-ward; the great green closed over him, and he went quietly 'to sleep. 3. A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap. That was Jack Frost's card. Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call. At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants thereof may make ready. 4. Dexter watched from the veranda of the Golf Club, watched the even overlap of the waters in the little wind, silver molasses under the harvest moon. Then the moon held a finger to her lips and the lake became a clear pool, pale and quiet. 5. Here and. there a Joshua tree stretched out hungry black arms as though to seize these travelers by night, and over that gray waste a dismal wind moaned constantly, chill and keen and biting. 6. The Face of London was now strangely altered . . . the voice of Mourning was heard in every street. 7. Mother Nature always blushes before disrobing. 8. The rainy night had ushered in a misty morning, half frost, half drizzle, and temporary brooks crossed our path, gurgling from the uplands. 9. Chan shrugged. "All the time the big Pacific Ocean suffered sharp pains down below, and tossed about to prove it. May be from sympathy I was in the same fix." 10.Break, break, break On the cold gray stones, O Sea! Break,break, break At the foot of thy chags, O.Sea! (T.) (2) Metonymy Exercise I. State the type of relations-existing between the object; named and the object implied in the following examples! of metonymy. 1. She saw around her, clustered about the white tables, multitudes of violently red lips, powdered cheeks, cold, hard eyes, self-possessed arrogant faces, and insolent-bosoms. 2. The trenchful of dead Japanese made him feel even worse but he felt he must not show this, so he had joined in with the others; but his heart wasn't in it. 3. It must not be supposed that stout women of a certain age never seek to seduce the eye and

trouble the meditations of man by other than moral charms. 4. Daniel was a good fellow, honorable, brilliant, a figure in the world. But what of his licentious tongue? What of his frequenting of bars? 5. If you knew how to dispose of the information you could do the Axis quite a bit of good by keeping your eyes and ears open in Gretley. 6. "You've got nobody to blame but yourself." "The saddest words of tongue or pen." 7. The syntax and idiom of the voice, in common conversation, are not the syntax and idiom of the pen. 8. For several days he took an hour after his work to make inquiry taking with him some example of his pen and inks. 9. The praise . . . was enthusiastic enough to have delighted any common writer who earns his living by his pen.. . 10. . . .there would follow splendid years of great works carried out together, the old head backing the young' fire. 11. Sceptre and crown must tumble down. And in the dust be equal made. With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 12. He was interested in everybody. His mind was alert, and people asked him to dinner not for old times' sake, but because he was worth his salt. 13. It was in those placid latitudes ... in the Pacific, where weeks, aye months, often pass without the margin-less blue level being ruffled by any wandering keel. Exercise II. Differentiate between trite and original metonymies. 1. . . .for every look that passed between them, and word they spoke, and every card they played, the dwarf had eyes and ears. 2. ". . .he had a stinking childhood." "If it was so stinking why does he cling to it?" "Use your head. Can't you see it's just that Rusty feels safer in diapers than he would in skirts?" 3. "Some remarkable pictures in this room, gentlemen. A Holbein, two Van Dycks, and, if I am not mistaken, a Velasquez. I am interested in pictures!" 4. Mrs. Amelia Bloomer invented bloomers in 1849 for the very daring sport of cycling. 5. "I shall enjoy a bit of a walk." "It's raining, you know." "I know. I'v got a Burberry." 6. Two men in uniforms were running heavily to the Administration building. As they ran, Christian saw them throw away their rifles. They were portly men who looked like advertisements for Munich beer, and running came hard to them . . . The first prisoner stopped and picked up one of the discarded rifles. He did not. fire it, but carried it, as he chased the guards ... He swung the rifle like a club, and one of the beer advertisements went down. 7. I get my living by the sweat of my brow. 8. I crossed a high toll bridge and negotiated a no man's land and came to the place where the Stars and Stripes stood shoulder to shoulder with the Union Jack. (St.) Tom and Roger came back to eat an enormous tea and then played tennis till light

failed. 10. I hope you will be able to send your mother something from time to time, as we can give her a roof over her head, a place to sleep and eat but nothing else. O'H.) ; 11. Being tired and dirty for days at a time and then having to give up because flesh and blood just couldn't stand it. 12. . . .the watchful Mrs. Snagsby is 'there too-bones of his bone, flesh of his flesh, shadow of his shadow. 13. Joe Bell's is a quiet place compared to most Lexington Avenue bars. It boasts neither neon nor television.! 14. She was a sunny, happy sort of creature. Too fond of the bottle. 15. To hell with Science! I have to laugh when I read some tripe these journalists write about it . . . What has Science done for Modern Man? 16. It's the inside of the man, the warm heart of the man, the passion of the man, the fresh blood of the man . . . that I speak of. 17. The streets were bedded with ... six inches of cold, soft carpet, churned to a dirty brown by the crush of teams and the feet of men. Along Broadway men picked their way in ulsters and umbrellas. 18. Up the Square, from the corner of King Street, passed a woman in a new bonnet with pink strings, and a new blue dress that sloped at the shoulders and grew to a vast circumference at the hem. Through the silent sunlit solitude of the Square . . . this bonnet and this dress floated northwards in search of romance. 19. "I never saw a Phi Beta Kappa wear a wrist watch." Exercise III. Give the morphological and syntactical characteristics of metonymies. 1.Many of the hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have ceased to beat; many of the looks that shone so brightly then, have ceased to glow. 2. There had to be a" survey. It cost me a few hundred pounds for the right pockets. 3. He ... took a taxi, one of those small, low Philadelphia-made un-American-looking Yellows of that period.. 4. She goes on fainter and fainter before my eyes. 5. I have only one good quality-overwhelming belief in the brains and hearts of our nation, our state, our town. 6. Dinah, a slim, fresh, pale eighteen, was pliant and vet fragile. 7. The man looked a rather old forty-five, for he was already going grey. 8. The delicatessen owner was a spry and jolly fifty. 9. He made his way through the perfume and conversation. 10. The man carrying the black Gladstone refused the help of the red Caps. . Didn't he look strong enough to carry a little bag, a little Gladstone like this? . . They were young and looked pretty strong, most of these Red Caps ... (3) Irony. Ecercise I, Analyse the following cases of irony, paying attention to the length of the context necessary to realize it: 1. Contentedly Sam dark drove off, in the heavy traffic of three Fords and the Minniemashie House Free Bus. 2.

Stoney smiled the sweet smile of an alligator. 3. Henry could get gloriously tipsy on tea and conversation. 4. She had so painfully reared three sons to be Christian gentlemen that one of them had become an Omaha bartender, one a professor of Greek, and one, Cyrus N. Bogart, 'a boy of fourteen who was still at home, "the most brazen member of the toughest gang in Boytown. 5. Even at this affair, which brought out the young smart set, the hunting squire set, the respectable intellectual set, they sat up with gaiety as with a corpse. 6. "If there's a war, what are you going to be in?" Lip-hook asked. "The Government, I hope," Tom said, "Touring the lines in an armored car, my great belly shaking like a jelly. Hey did you hear that? That's poetry" 7. He could walk and run, was full of exact knowledge about God, and entertained no doubt concerning the special partiality of a minor deity called Jesus towards himself. 8. ... Try this one, "The Eye of Osiris." Great stuff All about a mummy. Or Kennedy's "Corpse on the Mat" that's nice and light and cheerful, like its title. 9. Blodgett College is on the edge of Minneapolis. It is a bulwark of sound religion. It is still combating the recent heresies of Voltaire, Darwin and Robert Ingersoll. Pious families in Minnesota, Iowa, Wisconsin, the Dakotas send their children thither, and Blodgett protects "them from the wickedness of the universities. 10. ... the old lady ... ventured to approach Mr. Benjamin Alien with a few comforting reflections of which the chief were, that after all, it was well it was no worse; the least said the soonest mended, and upon her word she did not know that it was so very bad after all; that what was over couldn't be begun and what couldn't be cured must: be endured, with various other assurances of the like novel and strengthening description. 11. Poetry deals with primal and conventional things- the hunger for bread, the love of woman, the love of children, the desire for immortal life. If men really had new sentiments, poetry could not deal with them. If, let us say, a man did not feel a bitter craving to eat bread; but did, by way of substitute, feel a fresh, original craving to eat fenders or mahogany tables, poetry could not express him. If a man, instead of falling in love with a woman, fell in love with a fossil or a sea anemone poetry could not express him. Poetry can only express what is original in one sense-the sense in which we speak of original sin. It is original not in the paltry sense of being new, but in the deeper sense of being old; it is original in the sense that it deals with origins. 12. But every Englishman is born with a certain miraculous power that makes him master of the world. As the great champion of freedom and national independence he conquers and annexes half the world and

calls it Colonization. 13. All this blood and fire business tonight was probably part of the graft to get the Socialists chucked out and leave honest businessmen safe to make their fortunes out of murder. 14. England has been in a dreadful state for some weeks. Lord Coodle would go out, Sir Thomas Doodle wouldn't come in, and there being nobody in Great Britain (to speak of) except Coodle and Doodle, there has been no Government. 15. It was at their beautiful country place in W. that we had the pleasure of interviewing the Afterthought. At their own cordial invitation, we had walked over from the nearest railway station, a distance of some fourteen miles. Indeed, as soon as they heard of our intention they invited us to walk. "We are so sorry not to bring you in the motor," they wrote, "but the roads are so frightfully dusty that we might get dust on our chauffeur." That little touch of thoughtfulness is the keynote of their character. 16. But George only lasted his mother as a source of posthumous excitement for about two months. Just as the quarrel with Elizabeth reached stupendous heights of vulgar invective (on her side), old Winterbourne got himself run over. So there was the excitement of the inquest and a real funeral, and widow's weeds and more tear-blotched letters. She even sent a tear-blotched letter to Elizabeth, which I saw, saying that 'twenty years'-it was really almost thirty - 'of happy married life were over, both father and son were now happily united, and, whatever Mr. Winterbourne's faults, he was a gentleman. (Heavily underlined and followed by several exclamation marks, the insinuation being apparently that Elizabeth was no lady.) A month later Mrs. Winterbourne married the sheik- alas! no sheik now-at a London registry office, whence they departed to Australia to live a clean sportin' life. Peace be with them both-they were too clean and sportin' for a corrupt and unclean Europe. Stylistic Devices Based on the Interaction Between the Logical and Emotive Meanings of a Word (1) Hyperbole. Exercise I. Differentiate between the traditional and the genuine hyperboles in the following examples. 1. God, I cried buckets. I saw it ten times. 2. "Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old." 3. There were about twenty people at the party, most of whom I hadn't met before. The girls were dressed to kill. 4. She was very much upset by the catastrophe that had befallen the Bishops, but it was exciting, and she was tickled to death to have someone fresh to whom she could tell all about it. 5. When she dropped her pose and smiled down she discovered Kennicott apoplectic with domestic pride 6. Tom was conducted

through a maze of rooms and labyrinths of passages. 7. A worn tweed coat on her looked, he always thought worth ten times the painful finery of the village girls. 8. One night some twenty years ago, during a siege of mumps in our enormous family my younger sister Franny was, moved, crib and all, into the ostensibly germ-free room I shared with my eldest brother Seymour. 9. I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend you if I state quite frankly and openly that you seem to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute perfection. 10. Across my every path, at every turn, go where I will, do what I may, he comes. 11. ...he assured me that they had some (asparagus) so large, so splendid, so tender, that it was a wonder. Exercise II. State the nature of the exaggerated phenomenon (size, quantity, emotion, etc.). 1. .. .he'll go to sleep, my God he should, eight martinis before dinner and enough wine to wash an elephant. 2. You know how it is: you're 21 or 22 and you make some decisions: then whish; you're seventy: you've been a lawyer for fifty years, and that white-haired lady at your side has eaten over fifty thousand meals with you. 3. All the other attractions, with organs out of number and bands innumerable, emerged from the holes and corners in which they had passed the night. 4. George Lomax, his eyes always protuberant, but now goggling almost out of his head, stared at the closed door. 5. The afternoon-bridge ... . was held at Juanita Haydock's new concrete bungalow. Carol stepped into a sirocco of furnace heat. They were already playing. 6. A: Try and be a lady. G: Aijah! That's been said a hundred billion times. 7. .. .it is and will be for several hours the topic of the age, the feature of the century. 8. This is Rome. Nobody has kept a secret in Rome for three thousand years. 9. .. .said Bundle, after executing a fanfare upon the klaxon which must temporarily have deafened the neighbourhood. 10. It's not a joke, darling. I want you to call him up and tell him what a genius Fred is. He's written barrels of the most marvellous stories. 11. A team of horses couldn't draw her back now; the bolts and bars of the old Bastille couldn't keep her. 12. And as he was capable of giant joy, so did he harbor huge sorrow, so that when his dog died, the world ended. 13. .. .she has a nose that's at least three inches too long. Exercise III. Compare hyperbole and understatement. 1. (John Bidlake feels an oppression in the stomach after supper): "It must have been that caviar," he was thinking. "That beastly caviar." He violently hated caviar. Every sturgeon in the Black Sea was his personal enemy. 2. .. .he was all sparkle and glitter in the box at the Opera. 3. "You remember that awful dinner dress we

saw in Bonwit's window . . . She had it on. And all hips. She kept asking me. . ." 4. Calpurnia was all angles and bones; her hand was as wide as a bed slat and twice as hard. 5. This boy, headstrong, wilful, and disorderly as he is, should riot have one penny of my money, or one crust of my bread, or one grasp of my hand, to save him from the loftiest gallows in all Europe. 6. They were under a great shadowy train shed . . . with passenger cars all about and the train moving at a snail pace. 7. She would recollect and for a fraction of a fraction of a second she would think "Oh, yes, I remember," and build up an explanation on the recollection . . . 8. Her eyes were open, but only just. "Don't move the; tiniest part of an inch." 9. The little woman, for she was of pocket size, crossed her hands solemnly on her middle. (2) Epithet Exercise I. Discuss the structure of epithets. 1. "Can you tell me what time that game starts today?" The girl gave him a lipsticky smile. 2. The day was windless, unnaturally mild; since morning the sun had tried to penetrate the cloud, and now above the Mall, the sky was still faintly luminous, coloured like water over sand. 3. Silent early morning dogs parade majestically pecking and choosing judiciously whereon to pee. 4. The hard chairs were the newlywed-suit kind often on show in the windows of shops. 5. ... whispered the spinster aunt with true spinster-aunt-like envy ... 6. I closed my eyes, smelling the goodness of her sweat and the sunshinein-the-breakfast-room smell of her lavender-water. 7. Stark stared at him reflectively, that peculiar about to laugh, about to cry, about to sneer expression on his face. 8. Eden was an adept at bargaining, but somehow all his cunning left him as he faced this Gibraltar of a man. 9. At his full height he was only up to her shoulder a little dried-up pippin of a man. 10. "Thief," Pilon shouted. "Dirty pig of an untrue friend." 11. An ugly gingerbread brute of a boy with a revolting grin and as far as I was able to ascertain, no redeeming qualities of any sort. 12. A breeze . . . blew curtains in and out like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling. 13. He wore proud boxing gloves of bandages for weeks after that. 14. "I'd rather not know who did it. I'd rather not even think about it." "Ostrich," said her husband. 15. "Fool! Idiot! Lunatic!" she protested vehemently. 16. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight. Do you hear, damnable jade? 17. "Why, goddam you," Bloom screamed. "You dirty yellow, sneaking, twofaced, lying, rotten Wop you," have said, "yellow little Wop."

Exercise II. Classify the following into phrase-epithets and phrase-logical attributes. 1. ...a lock of hair fell over her eye and she pushed it back with a tired, end-of-the-day gesture. 2. .. .he was harmless, only just twenty, with a snub nose and curly hair and an air of morning baths and early to bed and plenty of exercise. 3. You don't seem to have any trouble controlling yourself, do you?.. Not like poor old slobbery, heart-on-his-tongue Buster here, at all. 4. He was an old resident of Seabourne, who looked after the penny-in-the-slot machines on the pier. 5. The shot sent the herd off bounding wildly and leaping over one another's backs in long, leg-drawn-up leaps . . . 6. She stopped at the door as if she'd been hit or as if a hundred-mile-an-hour gale had sprung up and she were bracing herself against it. 7. His view is that a sermon nowadays should be a bright, brisk, straight-from-theshoulder address, never lasting more than ten or twelve minutes. 8. .. .the extravagant devil-may-care creatures he portrayed on the stage. 9. "Uncle Wills looks at me all the time with a resigned 'I told you so' expression in his eyes, "he said impatiently. 10. So think first of her, but not in the ''I love you so that nothing will induce me to marry you" fashion. 11. Dave does a there-I-told-you-so look. 12. She gave Mrs. Silsburn a you-know-how-men-are look. 13. And one on either side of me the dogs crouched down with a move-if-you-dare expression in their eyes. 14. .. They (wives) really got only a sense of self-preservation ... everything else will be a foreign language to her. You know. Those innocent I-don't-know-whatyou're-talking-about eyes? Exercise III. Analyse the following string-epithets as to the length of the string and the quality of its components. 1. She was hopefully, sadly, vaguely, madly longing for something better. 2. The money she had accepted was two soft, green, handsome ten-dollar bills. 3. "You're a scolding, unjust, abusive, aggravating, bad old creature!" cried Bella. 4. Jack would have liked to go over and kiss her pure, polite, earnest, beautiful American forehead. 5. "Now my soul, my 'gentle, captivating, bewitching, and most damnably enslaving chick-a-biddy, be calm, said Mr. Mantalini. 6. It was an old, musty, fusty, narrow-minded, clean and bitter room. 7. "You nasty, idle, vicious, good-for-nothing brute," cried the woman, stamping on the ground, "why don't you turn the mangle?" 8. And he watched her eagerly, sadly, bitterly, ecstatically, as she walked lightly from him . . . 9. ... There was no intellectual pose in the laugh that followed, ribald, riotous, cockney, straight from the belly. 10. Mrs. Bogart was not the acid type of Good Influence. She was the soft, damp, fat, sighing, indigestive, clinging, melancholy,

depressingly hopeful kind. 11. "A nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneaking dog," exclaimed Mrs. Squeers. 12. .. .they thought themselves superior. And so did Eugene-the wretched creature! The cheap, mean, nasty, selfish upstarts! Why, the majority of them had nothing. Exercise IV. Pick out metaphorical epithets. 1. The iron hate in Saul pushed him on again. He heard the man crashing off to his right through some bushes. The stems and twigs waved frantically with the frightened movement of the wind. 2. She had received from her aunt a neat, precise, and circumstantial letter. 3. There was an adenoidal giggle from Audrey. 4. Liza Hamilton was a very different kettle of Irish. Her head was small and round and it held small and round convictions. 5. He would sit on the railless porch with the men when the long, tired, dirty-faced evening rolled down the narrow valley, thankfully blotting out the streets of shacks, and listen to the talk. 6. There was his little scanty travelling clothes upon him. There was his little scanty box outside in the shivering wind. 7. His dry tailored voice was capable of more light and shade than Catherine had supposed. 8. All at once there is a goal, a path through the shapeless day. 9. With his hand he shielded his eye against the harsh watty glare from the naked bulb over the table. Exercise V.. Speak about morphological, syntactical and semantic characteristics of epithets. 1. "It ain't o' no use, Sir," said Sam, again and again. "He's a malicious, bad-disposed, vordly-minded, spiteful, windictive creetur, with a hard heart as there ain't no soft' nin'." 2. I pressed half a crown into his ready palm and left. 3. Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. 4. He viewed with swift horror the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded, days, unworthy desires, wrecked faculties and base motives that made up his existence. 5. Cecily, ever since I first looked at your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. 6. The noon sun is lighting up red woundlike stains on their surfaces ... 7. He was young and small and almost as dark as a Negro, and there was a quick monkeylike roguishness to his face as he grabbed the letter, winked at Bibi and shut the door. 8. ... the open-windowed, warm spring nights were lurid with the party sounds, the loud-playing phonograph and martini laughter that emanated irom Apartment 2. 9. A spasm of high-voltage nervousness ran through, him. 10. "Fool," said the old man bitingly. 11. He had been called many things-loan-shark, skinflint, tightwad pussyfoot-but he had never before been called a flirt.

Exercise VI. Suggest the object the quality of which was used in the following transferred epithets. 1. He was a thin wiry man with a tobacco-stained smile. 2. He sat with Daisy in his arms for a long silent time. 3. There was a waiting silence as the minutes of the previous hearing were read. 4. He drank his orange-juice in long cold gulps. 5. The only place left was the deck strewn with nervous cigarette butts and sprawled legs. 6. Leaving indignant suburbs behind them they finally emerged into Oxford Street. Nick smiled sweatily. 8. She watched his tall quick step through the radiance of the corner streetlight. 9. Lottie . . . retreated at once with her fat little steps to the safety of her own room. 10. . . .boys and young men . . . talking loudly in the concrete accents of the N. Y. streets. 11. In imagination he heard his father's rich and fleshy laugh. (3) Oxymoron. Exercise I. Discuss the structure of the following oxymorons. 1. They looked courteous curses at me. 2. He ... caught a ride home to the crowded loneliness of the barracks.' 3. . . .he was certain the whites could easily detect his adoring hatred of them. 4. It was an unanswerable reply and silence prevailed" again. 5. Her lips . . . were . . . livid scarlet. 6. The boy was short and squat with the broad ugly pleasant face of a Temne. 7. A very likeable young man, Bill Eversleigh. Age at a guess, twentyfive, big and rather ungainly in his movements, a pleasantly ugly face,- a splendid set of white teeth and a pair of honest blue eyes. 8. From the bedroom beside the sleeping-porch, his wife's detestably cheerful "Time to get up, Georgie boy," . . . 9. The little girl who had done this was eleven-beautifully ugly as little girls are apt to be who are destined after a few years to be inexpressibly lovely . . .10. Huck Finn and Holden Caulfield are Good Bad Boys of American literature. 11. . . .a neon sign which reads, "Welcome to Reno, the biggest little town in the world." 12. "Tastes like rotten apples," said Adam. "Yes, but remember, Jam Hamilton said like good rotten apples." 13. "It was you who made me a liar," she cried silently. 14. The silence as the two men stared at one another was louder than thunder. 15. I got down off that stool and walked to the door in a silence that was as loud as a ton of coal going down a chute. 16. I've made up my mind. If you're wrong, you're wrong in the right way. 17. Heaven must be the hell of a place. Nothing but repentant sinners up there, isn't it? 18. Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements ... He seemed doomed to liberty! Exercise II. Find original and trite oxymorons among the following. For an eternity of seconds, it seemed, the din was all but incredible. 2. Of course, it was

probably an open secret locally. 3. She was a damned nice woman, too. 4. He'd behaved pretty lousily to Jan. 5. . . ,1't's very tender, it's sweet as hell, the way the women wear their prettiest every thing. 6. Doc has the hands of a brain surgeon and a cool warm mind . . . He was concupiscent as a rabbit and gentle as hell. Stylistic Devices Based on the Interaction Between the Free and Phraseological Meanings of a Word. (Or Between the Meanings of Two Homonyms) (1) Zeugma. Exercise I. State in which cases zeugma is created through if he simultaneous realization of different meanings of a polysemantic word and in which through homonyms. 1. His looks were starched, but his white neckerchief was not; and its long limp ends struggled over his closely-buttoned waistcoat in a very uncouth and unpicturesque manner. 2. Gertrude found her aunt in a syncope from which she passed into an apostrophe and never recovered. 3. There comes a period in every man's life, but she's just a semicolon in his. 4. "Have you been seeing any spirits?" inquired the old gentleman. "Or taking any?" added Bob Alien. 5. "Sally," said Mr. Bentley in a voice almost as low as his intentions, "let's go out to the kitchen." 6. "Where did you pick up Dinny, Lawrence?" "In the street." "That sounds improper." 7. Jo: I'm going to unpack my bulbs. I wonder where I can put them. Helen: I could tell you, Jo: They're supposed to be left in a cool, dark place. Helen: That's where we all end up sooner or later. Still it's no use worrying, is it? Exercise II. Classify the following into zeugmas and semantically false chains. 1. Mr. Stiggins . . . took his hat and his leave. 2. Disco was working in all his shore dignity and | pair of beautiful carpet slippers. 3. Mr. Trundle was in high feather and spirits . . . A the girls were in tears and white muslin; (D.) 4. She put on a white frock that suited the sunny riverside and her. 5. The fat boy went into the next room; and having been absent about a minute, returned with the snuff-box and the palest face that ever a fat boy wore. 6. She had her breakfast and her bath. 7. Miss Bolo rose from the table considerably agitated, and went straight home in a flood of tears and a sedan chair. 8. A young girl who had a yellow smock and a cold in the head that did not go on too welt together, was helping an old lady . . . (P.) 9. . . .the outside passengers . . . remain where they' are. and stamp their feet against the coach to warm them looking with longing eyes and red noses at the bright fire in the inn bar. 10. Cyrus Trask mourned for his wife with a keg of

whisky and three old army friends. 11. Its atmosphere and crockery were thick, its napery and soup were thin. 12. Mr. Smangle was still engaged in relating a long story, the chief point of which appeared to be that, on some occasion particularly stated and set forth, he had "done" a hill and a gentleman at the same time. 13. He struck off his pension and his head together. 14. Sophia lay between blankets in the room overhead with a feverish cold. This cold and her new dress were Mrs. Baine's sole consolation at the moment. 15. From her earliest infancy Gertrude had been brought up by her aunt. Her aunt had carefully instructed her to Christian principles. She had also taught her Mohammedanism to make sure. 16. . . .he's a hard man to talk to. Impossible if you don't share his fixations, of which Holly is one. Some others are: ice hockey, Weimaraner dogs, 'Our Gal Sunday' (a soap serial he has listened to for fifteen years), and Gilbert and Sullivan-he claims to be related to one or the other, I can't remember which. 17. But she heard and remembered discussions of Freud, Romain Rolland, syndicalism, the Confederation Generale du Travail, feminism vs. haremism, Chinese lyrics, naturalization of mines, Christian Science, and fishing in Ontario. 18. Only at the annual balls of the Firemen . . . was there such prodigality of chiffon scarfs and tangoing and heart-burnings . . .19. Mrs. Dave Dyer, a sallow woman with a thin prettiness, devoted to experiments in religious cults, illnesses, and scandalbearing, shook her finger at Carol . . . (2) Pun. Exercise I. Indicate cases when a pun is created through homonyms and when through different meanings of a polysemantic word. 1. Lord G.:I am going to give you some good advice. Mrs. Ch.: Oh! Pray don't. One should never give a woman anything that she can't wear in the evening. (O. W.) 2. For a time she put a Red Cross uniform and met other ladies similarly dressed in the armory, where bandages were rolled and reputations unrolled. 3. "Are you going to give me away?" she whispered. I looked surprised, though I didn't feel surprised. "What is there to give away?" "There's plenty, and you know it... It worried me all last night." "I can't see that it matters," I said. "And as for giving you away, I wouldn't know what to give away or who ought to have it when it's given away. So let's drop the subject." 4.J,: . . .I'm starting work on Saturday. H.: Oh, yes, she's been called to .the bar. P.: What sort of a bar? J.: The sort you're always propping up. I'm carrying on the family traditions. 5. Did you hit a woman with a child? No, Sir, I hit her with a brick. 6. It rained during the match at summit level in Moscow. But it not only rained rain, it rained records. 7. "I was such a lonesome girl until

you came," she said. "There's not a single man in all this hotel that's half alive." "But I'm not a single man," Mr. Topper replied cautiously. "Oh, I don't mean that," she laughed. "And anyway I hate single men. They always propose marriage." 8. She always glances up, and glances down, and doesn't know where to look, but looks all the prettier. 9. Alg.: . . .Besides, your name isn't Jack at all; it is Ernest. Jack.: It isn't Ernest; it's Jack. Alg.: You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to every one as Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly absurd your say ing that your name isn't Ernest. (3) Violation of Phraseological Units. Exercise I. . Discuss the manner in which a phraseological unit (or a compound word) is violated (prolongation, change of one of the components, etc.). 1. "They're coming--the Antrobuses. Your hope. Your despair. Your selves." 2. Furthermore, the white man knows his history, knows himself to be a devil, and knows that his time is running out, and all his technology, psychology, science and "tricknology" are being expended in the effort to prevent black-men from hearing the truth. 3. They got television, telephone, telegram, tell-a-woman, and tell-a-friend. 4. . . .You're incurable, Jimmy. A thousand pounds in the hand is worth a lot of mythical gold. 5. . . .gorgeous Holly Golightly, twenty-year-old Hollywood starlet and highly publicized girl-about-New York. 6.'He finds time to have a finger or a foot in most things that happen round here. 7. He remained sound to his monarchial principles, though he was reported to have his finger in all the backstairs pies that went on in the Balkans. 8. Little Jon was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, which was rather curly and large. 9. "Dear Adam: Forget not thy servants in the days of thy prosperity, Charles never spent a dime. He pinched a dollar until the eagle screamed." 10. It was toward evening, and I saw him on my way out to dinner. He was arriving in a taxi; the driver helped him totter into the house with a load of suitcases. That gave me something to chew on: by Sunday my jaws were quite tired. 11. Another person who makes both ends meet is the infant who sucks his toes. 12. The young lady who burst into tears has been put together again. (V.A.Kukharenko. Seminars in Style. M., 1971, pp. 27-53).

SYNTACTICAL EXPRESSIVE MEANS AND STYLISTIC DEVICES. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS

It is well known that the study of the sentence and its types and especially the study of the relations between different parts of the sentence have had a long history. Rhetoric was mainly engaged in the observation of the juxtaposition of the members of the sentence and in finding ways and means of building larger and more elaborate spans of utterance, as for example, the period or periodical sentence. Modern grammars have greatly extended the scope of structural analysis and have taken under observation the peculiarities of the relations between the members of the sentence, which somehow has overshadowed problems connected with structural and semantic patterns of larger syntactical units. It would not be an exaggeration to state that the study of units of speech larger than the sentence is still being neglected by many linguists. Some of them even consider such units to be extra-linguistic, thus excluding them entirely from the domain of Linguistics. Stylistics takes as the object of its analysis the expressive means and stylistic devices of the language, which are based on some significant structural point in an utterance, whether it consists of one sentence or a string of sentences. In grammar certain types of utterances have already been patterned, thus for example, we have all kinds of simple, compound or complex sentences, even a paragraph long, that may be regarded as neutral or non-stylistic patterns. At the same time, the peculiarities of the structural design of utterances, which bear some particular emotional colouring, that is, which are stylistic and therefore non-neutral, may also be patterned and presented as a special system, which we shall call "stylistic patterns". Stylistic patterns should not be regarded as violations of the literary norms of Standard English. On the contrary, these patterns help us to establish the norm of syntactical usage, inasmuch as their study reveals the invariant of the form together with the variants and what is more, reveals the borders beyond which the variants must not be extended. Stylistic syntactical patterns may be viewed as variants of the general syntactical models of the language and are the more obvious and conspicuous if presented, not as isolated elements or accidental usages, but as groups easily observable and lending themselves to generalization. Prof. G. Vinokur maintains that in syntax it is no new material that is coined, but new relations, because the syntactical aspect of speech is nothing more than a definite

combination of grammatical forms, and in this sense the actual words used are essentially immaterial. Therefore syntactical relations, particularly in poetic language, are that aspect of speech in which everything presents itself as actualization of the potential and not merely the repetition of the ready-made. By "the potential" G. Vinokur apparently means variations of syntactical patterns. It follows therefore, that in order to establish the permissible fluctuations of the syntactical norm, it is necessary to ascertain what is meant by the syntactical norm itself. We have already pointed out what the word norm means as a generic term. In English syntax the concept of norm is rather loose. In fact any change in the relative positions of the members of the sentence may be regarded as a variant of the received standard, provided that the relation between them will not hinder the understanding of the utterance. But here we are faced with the indisputable interdependence between form and content; in other words, between the syntactical design of the utterance and its concrete lexical materialization. Syntactical relations can be studied in isolation from semantic content. In this case they are viewed as constituents of the whole and assume their independent grammatical meaning. This is most apparent in forms embodying nonsense lexical units, as in Lewis Carroll's famous lines, so often quoted by linguists. "Twas brilling, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimbol in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outrabe." The structural elements of these lines stand out conspicuously and make sense even though they are materialized by nonsense elements. Moreover they impose on the morphemes they are attached to a definite grammatical meaning, making it possible to class the units. So it is due to these elements that we can state what the nonsense words are supposed to mean. Thus we know that the sequence of the forms forcibly suggests that after twas we should have an adjective; the y in slithy makes the word an adjective; gyre after the emphatic did can only be a verb. We know that this is a poem because it has rhythm (iambic tetrameter) and rhyme (abab in 'toves - borogroves;' 'wabe - outgrabe'). A closer examination of the structural elements will show that they outnumber the semantic units: nineteen structural elements and eleven, which are meant to be semantic. The following inferences may be drawn from this fact: 1) it is the structural element of the utterance that predetermines the possible semantic aspect; 2) the structural

elements have their own independent meaning which may be called structural or, more widely, grammatical; 3) the structural meaning may affect the lexical, giving contextual meaning to some of the lexical units. (I.R.Galperin. Stylstics. M., 1971, pp. 190-193). PROBLEMS CONCERNING THE COMPOSITION OF SPANS OF UTTERANCE WIDER THAN THE SENTENCE The Syntactical Whole The term syntactical whole is used to denote a larger unit than a sentence. It generally comprises a number of sentences interdependent structurally (usually by means of pronouns, connectives, tense-forms) and semantically (one definite thought is dealt with). Such a span of utterance is also characterized by the fact that it can be extracted from the context without losing its relative semantic independence. This cannot be said of the sentence, which, while representing a complete syntactical unit may, however, lack the quality of independence. A sentence from the stylistic point of view does not necessarily express one idea, as it is defined in most manuals of grammar. It may express only part of one idea. Thus the sentence: "Guy glanced at his wife's untouched plate" if taken out of the context will be perceived as a part of a larger span of utterance where the situation will be made clear and the purport of verbal expression more complete. Here is the complete syntactical whole: Guy glanced at his wife's untouched plate. "If you've finished we might stroll down. I think you ought to be starting." She did not answer. She rose from the table. She went into her room to see that nothing had been forgotten and then side by side with him walked down the steps. The next sentence of the paragraph begins "A little winding path..." This is obviously the beginning of the next syntactical whole. So the syntactical whole may be defined as a combination of sentences presenting a structural and semantic unity backed up by rhythmic and melodic unity. Any syntactical whole will lose its unity if it suffers breaking. But what are the principles on which the singling out of a syntactical whole can be maintained? In order to give an answer to this question, it is first of all necessary to deepen our understanding of the term utterance. As a stylistic term the word utterance must be expanded. Any utterance from a stylistic point of view will serve to denote a certain span of speech (language-in-action) in which we may observe coherence, interdependence of the elements, one definite idea, and last but not least, the purport of the writer. The purport is the aim that the writer sets

before himself, which is to make the desired impact on the reader. So, the aim of any utterance is a carefully thought-out impact. Syntactical units are connected to achieve the desired effect. Let us lake the following paragraph for analysis: "1. But a day or two later the doctor was not feeling well. 2. He had an internal malady that troubled him now and then, but he was used to it and disinclined to talk about it. 3. When he had one of his attacks, he only wanted to be left alone. 4. His cabin was small and stuffy, so he settled himself on a long chair on deck and lay with his eyes closed. 5. Miss Reid was walking up and down to get the half hour's exercise she took morning and evening. 6. He thought that if he pretended to be asleep she would not disturb him. 7. But when she had passed him half a dozen times she stopped in front of him and stood quite still. 8. Though he kept his eyes closed he knew that she was looking at him." This paragraph consists of eight sentences, all more or less independent. The first three sentences however show a considerable degree of semantic interdependence. This can be inferred from the use of the following cluster of concepts associated with each other: 'not feeling well', 'internal malady', 'one of his attacks'. Each phrase is the key to the sentence in which it occurs. In spite of the fact that there are no formal connectives, the connection is made apparent by purely semantic means. These three sentences constitute a syntactical whole built within the larger framework of the paragraph. The fourth sentence is semantically independent of the preceding three. It seems at first glance not to belong to the paragraph at all. The fact that the doctor's 'cabin was small and stuffy' and that 'he settled himself... on deck' does not seem to be necessarily connected with the thought expressed in the preceding syntactical whole. But on a more careful analysis one can clearly see how all four sentences are actually interconnected. The linking sentence is 'he only wanted to be left alone'. So the words 'lay with his eyes closed' with which the fourth sentence ends, are semantically connected both with the idea of being left alone and with the idea expressed in the sentence: 'He thought that if he pretended to be asleep she would not disturb him.' But between this sentence and its semantic links 'lay with his eyes closed' and 'wanted to be left alone', the sentence about Miss Reid thrusts itself in. This is not irrelevant to the whole situation and to the purport of the writer, who leads us to understand that the doctor was disinclined to talk to anybody and probably to Miss Reid in particular. So the whole of the paragraph has therefore what we have called gestalt, i.e. semantic and structural wholeness. It can, however be split into two syntactical wholes with a linking sentence between them.

Sentence 5 can be regarded as a syntactical whole, inasmuch as it enjoys considerable independence both semantically and structurally. Sentences 6, 7 and 8 are structurally and therefore semantically interwoven. But when and though in the seventh and eighth sentences are the structural elements, which link all three sentences into one syntactical whole. It follows then that a syntactical whole can be embodied in a sentence if the sentence meets the requirements of this compositional unit. Most epigrams are syntactical wholes from the point of view of their semantic unity, though they fail to meet the general structural requirement, viz. to be represented in a number of sentences. On the other hand, a syntactical whole, though usually a component part of the paragraph, may occupy the whole of the paragraph. In this case we say that the syntactical whole coincides with the paragraph. It is important to point out that this structural unit, in its particular way of arranging ideas, belongs almost exclusively to the belles-lettres style, though it may be met with to some extent in the publicistic style. Other styles, judging by their recognized leading features, do not require this mode of arranging the parts of an utterance except in rare cases which may be neglected. Let us take a passage from another piece of belles-lettres style, a paragraph from Aldington's "Death of a Hero." It is a paragraph easy to submit to stylistic and semantic analysis: it falls naturally into several syntactical wholes. "1. After dinner they sat about and smoked. 2. George took his chair over to the open window and looked down on the lights and movement of Piccadilly. 3. The noise of the traffic was lulled by the height to a long continuous rumble. 4. The placards of the evening papers along the railings beside the Ritz were sensational and bellicose. 5. The party dropped the subject of a possible great war; after deciding that there wouldn't be one, there couldn't. 6. George, who had great faith in Mr. Bobbe's political acumen, glanced through his last article, and took great comfort from the fact that Bobbesaid there wasn't going to be a war. 7. It was all a scare, a stock market ramp... 8. At that moment three or four people came in, more or less together, though they were in separate parties. 9. One of them was a youngish man in immaculate evening dress. 10. As he shook hands with his host, George heard him say rather excitedly, "I've just been dining with..." Analysis of this paragraph will show how complicated the composition of belles-lettres syntactical units is. There is no doubt that there is a definite semantic unity in the paragraph. The main idea is the anxiety and uncertainty of English

society before World War I as to whether there would be, or would not be, a war. But around this main sense-axis there centre a number of utterances, which present more -or less independent spans of thought. Thus, we can easily single out the group of sentences which begins with the words "After dinner" and ends with "...and bellicose". This part of the text presents, as it were, the background against which the purport of the author stands out more clearly, the last sentence of this syntactical whole preparing the reader for the main idea of the paragraph - the possibility of war-which is embodied in the next syntactical whole. This second syntactical whole begins with the words "The party dropped the subject of a possible great war" and ends with "...a stock market ramp..."It is made structurally independent by the introduction of elements of uttered represented speech the contractions wouldn't, couldn't, wasn't, the purely colloquial syntactical design there wouldn't be one, there couldn't; the colloquial word scare. The shift to the third syntactical whole is indicated by the dots after the word ramp (...). Here again it is the author who speaks, there are no further elements of represented speech, the shift being rather abrupt, because George's thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the newcomers. The connecting "At that moment" softens the abruptness. The author's purport grows apparent through the interrelation- an interrelation which seems to be organic - between the three syntactical wholes: sensational and bellicose placards in the streets of London, the anxiety of the people at the party, the conviction backed up by such a reassuring argument as Mr. Bobbe's article that there was not going to be a war, and the new guests bringing unexpected news. Syntactical wholes are not always so easily discernible as they are in this paragraph from "The Death of a Hero." Due to individual peculiarities in combining ideas into a graphical (and that means both syntactical and semantic) unity, there may be considerable variety in the arrangement of syntactical wholes and of paragraphs, ranging from what might be called clearly marked borderlines between the syntactical wholes to almost imperceptible semantic shifts. Indeed, it is often from making a comparison between the beginning and the end of a paragraph that one can infer that it contains separate syntactical wholes. It follows then that the paragraphs in the belles-lettres prose style do not necessarily possess the qualities of unity and coherence as is the case with paragraphs in other styles of speech and particularly in the scientific prose style.

Syntactical wholes are to be found in particular in poetical style. Here the syntactical wholes, as well as the paragraphs, are embodied in stanzas. Due to the most typical semantic property of any poetical work, viz., brevity of expression, there arises the need to combine ideas so that seemingly independent utterances may be integrated into one poetical unity, viz., a stanza. Let us take for analysis the following stanza from Shelley's poem "The Cloud": "I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder." Here there are three syntactical wholes separated by full stops. Within the first, which comprises four lines, there are two more or less independent units divided by a semicolon and integrated by parallel constructions (/ bring fresh showers; I bear light shad)}. Within the second syntactical whole - also four lines - there are also two interdependent ideas - the buds awakened by the dews and the earth moving around the sun. These are strongly bound together by the formal elements when and as forming one complex sentence and a syntactical whole. The formal means used to connect different spans of utterance affect their semantic integrity. The three syntactical wholes of the stanza are united by one idea - the usefulness of the cloud giving all kind of comfort, here moisture and shade, to what is growing... showers, shade, dews, hail, rain. The syntactical wholes in sonnets are especially manifest. This is due to their strict structural and semantic rules of composition. The Paragraph A paragraph is a graphical term used to name a group of sentences marked off by indentation at the beginning and a break in the line at the end. But this graphical term has come to mean a distinct portion of a written discourse showing an internal unity, logical in character. In fact the paragraph as a category is half linguistic, half

logical. As a logical category it is characterized by coherence and relative unity of the ideas expressed, as a linguistic category it is a unit of utterance marked off by purely linguistic means: intonation, pauses of various lengths, semantic ties which can be disclosed by scrupulous analysis of the morphological aspect and meaning of the component parts, etc. It has already been stated elsewhere that the logical aspect of an utterance will always be backed up by purely linguistic means causing, as it were, an indivisible unity of extra-linguistic and infra-linguistic approach. Bearing this in mind, we shall not draw a mark of demarcation between the logical and the linguistic analysis of an utterance, because the paragraph is a linguistic expression of a logical arrangement of thought. Paragraph structure is not always built on logical principles alone, as is generally the case in the style of scientific prose. In the building of paragraphs in newspaper style, other requirements are taken into consideration, for instance, psychological principles, in particular the sensational effect of the communication and the grasping capacity of the reader for quick reading. Considerations of space also play an important part. This latter consideration sometimes over-rules the necessity for logical arrangement and results in breaking the main rule of paragraph building, i.e. the unity of idea. Thus a brief note containing information about an oil treaty is crammed into one sentence, it being in its turn a paragraph: "The revised version of an international oil treaty is to-day before the Senate Relation Committee, which recently made it clear that the Anglo-American oil treaty negotiated last August would not reach the Senate floor for ratification, because of objections by the American oil industry to it." Paragraph building in the style of official documents is mainly governed by the particular conventional forms of documents (charters, pacts, diplomatic documents, business letters, legal documents and the like). Here paragraphs may sometimes embody what are grammatically called a number of parallel clauses, which for the sake of the wholeness of the entire document are made formally subordinate, whereas in reality they are independent items. Paragraph structure in the belles-lettres and publicistic styles is strongly affected by the purport of the author. To secure the desired impact, a writer finds it necessary to give details and illustrations, to introduce comparisons and contrasts, to give additional reasons and, finally, to expand the topic by looking at it from different angles and paraphrasing it. He may, especially in the publicistic style, introduce the testimony of some authority on the subject and even deviate from the main topic by recounting an anecdote or even a short story to ease mental

effort and facilitate understanding of the communication. The length of a paragraph normally varies from eight to twelve sentences. The longer the paragraph is, the more difficult it is to follow the purport of the writer. In newspaper style, however, most paragraphs consist of one or perhaps two or three sentences. Paragraphs of a purely logical type may be analysed from the way the thought of the writer develops. Attempts have been made to classify paragraphs from the point of view of the logical sequence of the sentences. Thus in manuals on the art of composition there are models of paragraphs built on different principles: 1. from the general to the particular, or from the particular to the general; 2. on the inductive or deductive principle; ,3. from cause to effect, or from effect to cause; 4. on contrast, or comparison. So the paragraph is a compositional device aimed either at facilitating the process of apprehending what is written, or inducing a certain reaction on the part of the reader. This reaction is generally achieved by intentionally grouping the ideas so as to show their interdependence or interrelation. That is why the paragraph, from a mere compositional device, turns into a stylistic one. It discloses the writer's manner of depicting the features of the object or phenomenon described. It is in the paragraph that the main function of the belles-lettres style becomes most apparent, the main function, as will be shown below, being emotive. In the paragraph from the "Death of a Hero", as we saw, there are three syntactical wholes which together constitute one paragraph. If we were to convert the passage into one of the matter-of-fact styles it would be necessary to split it into three paragraphs. But Aldington found it necessary to combine all the sentences into one paragraph, evidently seeing closer connections between the parts than there would be in a mere impersonal, less emotional account of the events described. The paragraph in some styles, such as scientific, publicistic and some others generally has a topic sentence, i.e., a sentence which embodies the main idea of the paragraph or which may be interpreted as a key-sentence disclosing the chief thought of the writer. In logical prose the topic sentence is as a rule placed either at the beginning or at the end of the paragraph depending on the logical pattern on which the paragraph is built. In the belles-lettres style the topic sentence may be placed in any part of the paragraph. It will depend on how the writer seeks to achieve his effect. Thus in the paragraph we have been referring to, the topic sentence ('The party dropped the subject of a possible great war, after deciding that there wouldn't be one, there couldn't') is placed in the middle of the paragraph. The parts that precede and

follow the topic sentence correspondingly lead to it ('the placards...') and develop it ('George, who...'). The topic sentence itself, being based on uttered represented speech, is stylistically a very effective device to show that the conclusion (no war) was not based on sound logical argument, but merely on the small talk of the party ('there wouldn't', 'there couldn't'). However, paragraph building in belles-lettres prose generally lacks unity, inasmuch as it is governed by other than logical principles, two of the requirements being emotiveness and a natural representation of the situation depicted. Hence, it is sometimes impossible to decide which sentence should be regarded as the topic one. Each syntactical whole of several combined into one paragraph, may have its own topic sentence or be a topic sentence. In other words, there are no topic sentences in emotive prose as a rule, though there may be some paragraphs with one due to the prevalence of the logical element over the emotional or the aesthetic. In publicistic style paragraphs are built on more apparent logical principles, this style being intermediate between the belles-lettres and the scientific style. Let us subject to stylistic analysis the following paragraph from Macaulay's essay on Oliver Goldsmith: While Goldsmith was writing "The Deserted Village" and "She Stoops to Conquer," he was employed in works of a very different kind, works from which he derived little reputation but much profit. He compiled for the use of schools a "History of Rome," by which he made 300; a "History of England," by which he made 600; a "History of Greece," for which he received 250; a "Natural History," for which the book-sellers covenanted to pay him 800 guineas. These works he produced without any elaborate research, by merely selecting, abridging and translating into his own clear, pure, and flowing language what he found in books well known to the world, but too bulky or too dry for boys and girls. He committed some strange blunders; for he knew nothing with accuracy. Thus in his "History of England" he tells us that Naseby is in Yorkshire; nor did he correct this mistake when the book was reprinted. He was nearly hoaxed into putting into the "History of Greece" an account of a battle between Alexander the Great and Montezuma. In his "Animated Nature" he relates, with faith and with perfect gravity, all the most absurd lies, which he could find in books of travels about gigantic Patagonians, monkeys that preach sermons, nightingales that repeat long conversations. "If he can tell a horse from a cow," said Johnson, "that is the extent of his knowledge of zoology." How little Goldsmith was qualified to write about the physical sciences is sufficiently proved by two anecdotes. He on one

occasion denied that the sun is longer in the northern than in the southern signs. It was vain to cite the authority of Maupertuis. "Maupertuis!" he cried; "I understand those matters better than Maupertuis." On another occasion he, in defiance of the evidence of his own senses maintained obstinately, and even angrily, that he chewed his dinner by moving his upper jaw. Yet, ignorant as Goldsmith was, few writers have done more to make the first steps in the laborious road to knowledge easy and pleasant...." The topic sentence of this paragraph is placed at the beginning. It consists of two ideas presented in a complex sentence with a subordinate clause of time. The idea of the topic sentence is embodied in the main clause, which states that Goldsmith derived "little reputation but much profit" out of some of his works. The subordinate clause of time is used here as a linking sentence between the preceding paragraph which deals with "The Deserted Village" and "She Stoaps to Conquer" and the one under scrutiny. The next paragraph of the passage, as the reader has undoubtedly observed, begins with a new topic sentence and is built on the same structural model: the subordinate clause sums up the idea of the preceding paragraph ("Yet, ignorant as Goldsmith was"), and the main clause introduces a new idea. This pattern is maintained throughout the essay and, by the way, in most of Macaulay's essays. This easy, flowing manner of exposition has a high degree of predictability. The reader, having read the first sentence and being conscious of the author's manner of building paragraphs, will not fail to grasp the gist of the passage at once. It is interesting to point out how Macaulay develops the idea expressed in the topic sentence. He wished to show why Goldsmith derived 1) "little reputation" and 2) "much profit" from certain of his works. Of the two, Macaulay considers the former to be undoubtedly more significant than the latter. That is why he begins with insignificant details - enumerating Goldsmith's profits and then devotes all the rest of the paragraph to instances of Goldsmith's ignorance. A paragraph in certain styles is, as has been said, a dialogue (with the reader) in the form of a monologue. The breaking-up of a piece of writing into paragraphs can be regarded as an expression of consideration for the reader on the part of the author. It manifests itself in the author's being aware of limits in the reader's capacity for perceiving and absorbing information. Therefore paragraphs in matter-of-fact styles, as in scientific prose, official documents and so on, are clear, precise, logically coherent, and possess unity, i.e., express one main thought. Paragraphs in emotive prose are combinations of the logical and the emotional.

The aim of the author in breaking up the narrative into paragraphs is not only to facilitate understanding but also for emphasis. That is why paragraphs in the belles-lettres prose are sometimes built on contrast or on climax. The paragraph as a unit of utterance, is so far entirely the domain of stylistics. Yet these are obvious features of a purely syntactical character in the paragraph, which must not be overlooked. That is why there is every reason to study the paragraph in syntax of the language where not only the sentence but also larger units of communication should be under observation. This would come under what we may call the "macro-syntax" of the language. The structural syntactical aspect is sometimes regarded as the crucial issue in stylistic analysis, although the peculiarities of syntactical arrangement are not so conspicuous as the lexical and phraseological properties of the utterance. Syntax is figuratively called the "sinews of style". Structural syntactical stylistic devices are in special relations with the intonation involved. Prof. Peshkovsky points out that there is an interdependence between the intonation and other syntactical properties of the sentence, which may be worded in the following manner: the more explicitly the structural syntactical relations are expressed, the weaker will be the intonation-pattern of the utterance (up to complete disappearance) and vice-versa, the stronger the intonation, the weaker grow the evident syntactical relations (also up to complete disappearance). This can be illustrated by means of the following two pairs of sentences: "Only after dinner did I make up my mind to go there" and "I made up my mind to go there only after dinner." "It was in Bucharest that the Xth International Congress of Linguists took place" and "The Xth International Congress of Linguists took place in Bucharest." The second sentences in these pairs can be made emphatic only by intonation; the first sentences are made emphatic by means of the syntactical patterns: "Only after dinner did I.." and "It was... that." The problem of syntactical stylistic devices appears to be closely linked not only with what makes an utterance more emphatic but also with the more general problem of predication. As is known, the English affirmative sentence is regarded as neutral if it maintains the regular word order, i.e., subject - predicate - object (or other secondary members of the sentence, as they are called). Any other order of the parts of the sentence may also carry the necessary information, but the impact on the reader will be different. Even a slight change in the word order of a sentence or in the order of the sentences in a more complicated syntactical unit will inevitably

cause a definite modification of the meaning of the whole. An almost imperceptible rhythmical design introduced into a prose sentence, or a sudden break in the sequence of the parts of the sentence, or any other change will add something to the volume of information contained in the original sentence. It follows that the very concept of inversion has appeared as a counterpart to the regular word order, the latter being a relatively unemotional, unemphatic, neutral mode of expression. Unlike the syntactical expressive means of the language, which are naturally used in discourse in a straightforward natural manner, syntactical stylistic devices are perceived as elaborate designs aimed at having a definite impact on the reader. It will be borne in mind that any SD is meant to be understood as a device and is calculated to produce a desired stylistic effect. When viewing the stylistic functions of different syntactical designs we must first of all take into consideration two aspects: 1. The juxtaposition of different parts of the utterance. 2. The way the parts are connected with each other. In addition to these two large groups of EMs and SDs two other groups may be distinguished: 1. Those based on the peculiar use of colloquial constructions. 2. Those based on the transferred use of structural meaning. Stylistic Inversion Word order is a crucial syntactical problem in many languages. In English it has peculiarities, which have been caused by the concrete and specific way the language has developed. O.Jespersen states that the English language "...has developed a tolerably fixed word order which in the great majority of cases shows without fail what is the Subject of the sentence."1 This "tolerably fixed word order" is Subject-Verb (Predicate) - Object (S - P - O). Further, Jespersen mentions a statistical investigation of word order made on the basis of a series of representative 19th century writers. It was found that the order S - p - o was used in from 82 to 97 per cent of all sentences containing all three members, while the percentage for Beowulf was 16 and for King Alfred's prose 40. This predominance of S - P - O word order makes conspicuous any change in the structure of the sentence and inevitably calls forth a modification in the intonation design. The most conspicuous places in the sentence are considered to be the first and the last: the first place because the full force of the stress can be felt at the beginning of an utterance and the last place because there is a pause after it. This traditional word order has developed a definite intonation design. Through frequency of repetition this design has imposed itself on any sentence even though

there are changes introduced in the sequence of the component parts. Hence, the clash between semantically insignificant elements of the sentence, when they are placed in structurally significant position, and the intonation, which follows the recognized pattern. Thus in Dickens' much quoted sentence: "Talent Mr. Micawber has; capital Mr. Micawber has not." The first and the last positions being prominent, the verb has and the negative not get a fuller volume of stress than they would in ordinary (uninverted) word order. In the traditional word order the predicates has and has not are closely attached to their objects talent and capital. English predicateobject groups are so bound together that when we tear the object away from its predicate, the latter remains dangling in the sentence and in this position sometimes calls forth a change in meaning of the predicate word. In the inverted word order not only the objects talent and capital become conspicuous but also the predicates has and has not. In this example the effect of the inverted word order is backed up by two other stylistic devices: antithesis and parallel construction. Unlike grammatical inversion stylistic inversion does not change the structural meaning of the sentence, that is, the change in the juxtaposition of the members of the sentence does not indicate structural meaning but has some superstructural function. Stylistic inversion aims at attaching logical stress or additional emotional colouring to the surface meaning of the utterance. Therefore a specific intonation pattern is the inevitable satellite of inversion. ''Stylistic inversion in Modern English should not be regarded as a violation of the norms of Standard English. It is only the practical realization of what is potential in the language itself. The following patterns of stylistic inversion are most frequently met in both English prose and English poetry. 1. The object is placed at the beginning of the sentence (see the example above). 2. The attribute is placed after the word it modifies (postposition of the attribute). This model is often used when there is more than one attribute, for example: "With fingers weary and worn..." (Thomas Hood) "Once upon a midnight dreary..." 3. a) The predicative is placed before the subject as in "A good generous prayer it was." (Mark Twain) or b) the predicative stands before the link verb and both are placed before the subject as in "Rude am I in my speech..." 4. The adverbial modifier is placed at the beginning of the sentence, as in "Eagerly I wished the morrow." (Poe) "My dearest daughter, at your feet I fall." (Dry den) "A tone of most extraordinary comparison Miss Tox

said it in". 5. Both modifier and predicate stand before the subject, as in "In went Mr. Pickwick." "Down dropped the breeze..." These five models comprise the most common and recognized models of inversion. No other form of inversion can be a basis for a model, though occasionally a word order appears which is in violation of the recognized norms of the English sentence. In this respect Henry Sweet is wrong when in his "New English Grammar" he maintains that in order to make a word emphatic it must be placed in any abnormal position. The position of a word in the sentence may be changed within the recognized variants and the above models are the materialization of these variants. Inversion as a stylistic device is always sense-motivated. There is a tendency to account for inversion in poetry by rhythmical considerations. This may sometimes be true, but really talented poets will never sacrifice sense for form and in the majority of cases inversion in poetry is called forth by considerations of content rather than rhythm. Inverted word order, or inversion, is one of the forms of what are known as emphatic constructions. What is generally called traditional word order is nothing more than unemphatic construction. Emphatic constructions have, so far, been regarded as non-typical structures and therefore are considered as violations of the regular word order in the sentence. But in practice these structures are as common as the fixed or traditional word order structures. Therefore, inversion must be regarded as an expressive means of the language having typical structural models. Detached Constructions Sometimes one of the secondary parts of the sentence by some specific consideration of the writer is placed so that it seems formally independent of the word it logically refers to. Such parts of structures are called detached. They seem to dangle in the sentence as isolated parts. The detached part, being torn away from its referent, assumes a greater degree of significance and is given prominence by intonation" The structural patterns of detached constructions have not yet been classified, but the most noticeable cases are those in which an attribute or an adverbial modifier is placed not in immediate proximity to its referent, but in some other position, as in the following examples: 1) "Steyne rose up, grinding his teeth, pale, and with fury in his eyes." 2) "Sir Pitt came in first, very much flushed, and rather unsteady in his gait." Sometimes a nominal phrase is thrown into the sentence forming a syntactical unit with the rest of the sentence, as in "And he walked slowly past again, along the river - an evening of clear, quiet beauty, all

harmony and comfort, except within his heart." The essential quality of detached construction lies in the fact that the isolated parts represent a kind of independent whole thrust into the sentence or placed in a position which will make the phrase (or word) seem independent. But a detached phrase cannot rise to the rank of a primary member of the sentence - it always remains secondary from the semantic point of view, although structurally it possesses all the features of a primary member. This clash of the structural and semantic aspects of detached constructions produces the desired effect - forcing the reader to interpret the logical connections between the component parts of the sentence. Logical ties between them always exist in spite of the absence of syntactical indicators. Detached constructions in their common forms make the written variety of language akin to the spoken variety where the relation between the component parts is effectively materialized by means of intonation. Detached construction, as it were, becomes a peculiar device bridging the norms of written and spoken language. This stylistic device is akin to inversion. The functions are almost the same. But detached construction produces a much stronger effect, inasmuch as it presents parts of the utterance significant from the author's point of view in a more or less independent manner. Here are some more examples of detached constructions: "Daylight was dying, the moon rising, gold behind the poplars." "'I want to go,' he said, miserable." "She was lovely: all of her-delightful." The italicized phrases and words in these sentences seem to be isolated, but still the connection with the primary members of the corresponding sentences is clearly implied. Thus, gold behind the poplars may be interpreted as a simile or a metaphor: the moon like gold was rising behind the poplars, or the moon rising, it was gold... Detached construction sometimes causes the simultaneous realization of two grammatical meanings of a word. In the sentence "'I want to go,' he said, miserable" the last word might possibly have been understood as an adverbial modifier to the word said if not for the comma, though grammatically miserably would be expected. The pause indicated by the comma implies that miserable is an adjective used absolutely and referring to the pronoun he. The same can be said about Dreiser's sentence with the word delightful. Here again the mark of punctuation plays an important role. The dash, standing before the word, makes the word conspicuous and being isolated, it becomes the culminating point of the climax- lovely... -delightful, i.e. the peak of the whole

utterance. The phrase all of her is also somehow isolated. The general impression suggested by the implied intonation, is a strong feeling of admiration; and as is usually the case, strong feelings reject coherent and logical syntax. In the English language detached constructions are generally used in the belles-lettres prose style and mainly with words that have some explanatory function, for example: "June stood in front, fending off this idle curiosity - a little bit of a thing, as somebody said, 'all hair and spirit'..." Detached construction as a stylistic device is a typification of the syntactical peculiarities of colloquial language. Detached construction is a stylistic phenomenon, which has so far been little investigated. The device itself is closely connected with the intonation pattern of the utterance. In conversation any word or phrase or even sentence may be made more conspicuous by means of intonation. Therefore precision in the syntactical structure of the sentence is not so necessary from the communicative point of view. But it becomes vitally important in writing.1 Here precision of syntactical relations is the only way to make the utterance fully communicative. Therefore when the syntactical relations become obscure, each member of the sentence that seems to be dangling becomes logically significant. A variant of detached construction is parenthesis. "Parenthesis is a qualifying, explanatory or appositive word, phrase, clause, sentence, or other sequence which interrupts a syntactic construction without otherwise affecting it, having often a characteristic intonation and indicated in writing by commas, brackets or dashes." In fact parenthesis sometimes embodies a considerable volume of predicativeness, thus giving the utterance an additional nuance of meaning or a tinge of emotional colouring. Parallel construction is a device, which may be encountered not so much in the sentence as in the macro-structures dealt with earlier, viz. the syntactical whole and the paragraph. The necessary condition in parallel construction is identical or, similar, syntactical structure in two or more, sentences or parts of a sentence, as in: "There were, ..., real silver spoons to stir the tea with, and real china cups to drink it out of, and plates of the same to hold the cakes and toast in. " (Dickens) Parallel constructions are often backed up by repetition of words (lexical repetition) and conjunctions and prepositions (polysyndeton). Pure parallel construction, however, does not depend on any other kind of repetition but the repetition of the syntactical design of the sentence.

Parallel constructions may be partial or complete. Partial parallel arrangement is the repetition of some parts of successive sentences or clauses as in: "It is the mob that labour in your fields and serve in your houses - that man your navy and recruit your army,- that have enabled you to defy all the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair." (Byron) The attributive clauses here all begin with the subordinate conjunction that which is followed by a verb in the same tense form, except the last (have enabled). The verbs however are followed either by adverbial modifiers of place (in your fields, in your houses) or by direct objects (your navy, your army). The third attributive clause is not built on the pattern of the first two, although it preserves the parallel structure in general (that+verb predicate+object), while the fourth has broken away entirely. Complete parallel arrangement, also called balance, maintains the principle of identical structures throughout the corresponding sentences, as in "The seeds ye sow another reaps, The robes ye weave - another wears, The arms ye forget- another bears." (P. B. Shelley) Parallel construction is most frequently used in enumeration, antithesis and in climax, thus consolidating the general effect achieved by these stylistic devices. There are two main functions of parallel construction: semantic and structural. On the one hand a parallel arrangement suggests equal semantic significance of the component parts, on the other hand, it gives a rhythmical design to these component parts, which makes itself most keenly felt in balanced" constructions. Parallel construction is used in different styles of writing with slightly different functions. When used in the matter-of-fact styles it carries, in the main, the idea of semantic equality of the parts, as in scientific prose, where the logical principle of arranging ideas predominates. In the belles-lettres style parallel construction carries an emotive function. That is why it is mainly used as a technical means in building up other stylistic devices, in particular antithesis and climax. It is natural that parallel construction should very frequently be used in poetical structures. Alternation of similar units being the basic principle of verse, similarity in longer units - i.e. in the stanza, is to be expected. Chiasmus (Reversed Parallel Construction) Chiasmus belongs to the group of stylistic devices based on the repetition of a syntactical pattern; but it has a cross order of words and phrases.. The structure of two successive sentences or parts of a sentence' may be described as reversed

parallel construction, the word order of one of the sentences being inverted as compared to that of the other as in: "As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low." (Wordsworth) "Down dropped, the breeze, The sails dropped down." (Coleridge) Chiasmus is sometimes achieved by a sudden change from active voice to passive or vice versa, for example: "The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker and the chief mourner, Scrooge signed it. This device is effective in that it helps to lay stress on the second part of the utterance, which is opposite in structure, as in our dejection; Scrooge signed it. This is due to the sudden change in the structure, which by its very unexpectedness linguistically requires a slight pause before it. As is seen from the examples above, chiasmus can appear only when there are two successive sentences or coordinate parts of a sentence. So distribution, here close succession, is the factor, which predetermines the birth of the device. There are different variants of the structural design of chiasmus. The first example shows chiasmus appearing in a complex sentence, where the second part has an opposite arrangement. The second example demonstrates chiasmus in a sentence expressing semantically the relation of cause and effect. Structurally, however, the two parts are presented as independent sentences, and it is the chiasmatic structure, which supports the idea of subordination. The third example is composed of two independent sentences and the chiasmus serves to increase the effect of climax. Here is another example of chiasmus where two parallel constructions are followed by a reversed parallel construction linked to the former by the conjunction and: "The night winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew." (Byron) It must be remembered that chiasmus is a syntactical, not a lexical device, i.e. it is only the arrangement of the parts of the utterance which constitutes this stylistic device. In the famous epigram by Byron "In the days of old men made the manners; Manners now make men," there is no inversion, but a lexical device. Both parts of the parallel construction have the same, the normal word order. However the witty arrangement of the words has given the utterance an epigrammatic character. This device may be classed as lexical chiasmus or

chiasmatic repetition. Byron particularly favoured it. Here are some other examples: "His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes." '"T is strange, - but true; for truth is always strange." "But Tom's no more - and so no more of Tom." "True, 'tis a pity-pity 'tis, 'tis true." "Men are the sport of circumstances, when The circumstances seem the sport of men." "'Tis a pity though, in this sublime world that Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure." Note the difference in meaning of the repeated words on which the epigrammatic effect rests: 'strange-strange;' 'no more-no more', 'jokes-jokes.' Syntactical chiasmus is sometimes used to break the monotony of parallel constructions. But whatever the purpose of chiasmus, it will always bring in some new shade of meaning or additional emphasis on some portion of the second part. The stylistic effect of this construction has been so far little investigated. But even casual observation will show that chiasmus should be perceived as a complete unit. One cannot help noticing that the first part in chiasmus is somewhat incomplete, it calls for continuation, and the anticipation is rewarded by the second part of the construction, which is, as it were, the completion of the idea. Like parallel construction, chiasmus contributes to the rhythmical quality of the utterance, and the pause caused by the change in the syntactical pattern may be likened to a caesura in prosody. As can be seen from this short analysis of chiasmus, it has developed, like all stylistic devices, within the framework of the literary form of the language. However its prototype may be found in the norms of expressions of the spoken language, as in the emphatic: 'He was a brave man, was John.' Repetition It has already been pointed out that repetition is an expressive means of language used, when the speaker is under the stress of strong emotion. It shows the "state of mind of the speaker, as in the following passage from Galsworthy: "Stop!" - she cried, "Don't tell me! I don't want to hear; I don't want to hear what you've come for I don't want to hear. The repetition of I don't want to hear is not a stylistic device; it is a means by which the excited state of mind of the speaker is shown. This state of mind always

manifests itself through intonation, which is suggested here by the words, she cried. In the written language before direct speech is introduced one can always find words indicating the intonation as sobbed, shrieked, passionately, etc. J. Vandryes writes: "Repetition is also one of the devices having its origin in the emotive language. Repetition when applied to the logical language becomes simply an instrument of grammar. Its origin is to be seen in the excitement accompanying the expression of a feeling being brought to its highest tension." When used as a stylistic device, repetition acquires quite different functions. It does not aim at making a direct emotional impact. On the contrary, the stylistic device of repetition aims at logical emphasis, an emphasis necessary to fix the attention of the reader on the keyword of the utterance. For example: "For that was it! Ignorant of the long and stealthy march of passion, and of the state to which it had reduced Fleur; ignorant of how Soames had watched her, ignorant of Fleur's reckless desperation...-ignorant of all this, everybody felt aggrieved." (Galsworthy) Repetition is classified according to compositional design. If the repeated word or phrase comes at the beginning of two or more consecutive sentences clauses or phrases, we have anaphora, as in the example above. If the repeated unit is placed at tne end of consecutive sentences, clauses or phrases we have the type of repetition called epiphora, as in: "I am exactly the man to be placed in a superior position in such a case as that. I am above the rest of mankind, in such a case as that. I can act with philosophy in such a case as that. (Dickens) Here the repetition has a slightly different function: it becomes a background against which the statements preceding the repeated unit are made to stand out more conspicuously. This may be called the background function. It must be observed, however, that the logical function of the repetition, to give emphasis, does not fade when it assumes the background function. This is an additional function. Repetition may also be arranged in the form of a frame: the initial parts of a syntactical unit, inmost cases of a paragraph, are repeated at the end of it as in: Poor doll's dressmaker. How often so dragged down by hands that should have raised her up; how often so misdirected losing her way on the eternal road and asking guidance, little doll's dressmaker." (Dickens) This compositional design of repetition is called framing. The semantic nuances of different compositional structures of repetition have been little looked into. But even a superficial examination will show that framing, for example, makes the whole utterance more compact and more complete. Framing is most

effective in singling out paragraphs. Among other compositional models of repetition is linking or reduplication (also known as anadiplosis). The structure of this device is the following: the last word or phrase of one part of an utterance is repeated at the beginning of the next part, thus hooking the two parts together. The writer, instead of moving on, seems to double back on his tracks and pick up his last word. "Freeman and slave... carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a reconstitution of society at large. Any repetition of a unit of language will inevitably cause some slight modification of meaning, a modification suggested by a noticeable change in the intonation with which the repeated word is pronounced. Sometimes a writer may use the linking device several times in one utterance, for example: "A smile would come into Mr. Pickwick's face: the smile extended into a laugh: the laugh into a roar, and the roar became general." (Dickens) or: "For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter." (Byron) This compositional form of repetition is also called chain-repetition. What are the most obvious stylistic functions of repetition? The first, the primary one, is to intensify the utterance. Intensification is the direct outcome of the use of the expressive means employed in ordinary intercourse; but when used in other compositional designs, the immediate emotional charge is greatly suppressed and is replaced by a purely aesthetic aim as in the following example: THE ROVER A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green No more of me you knew My Love! No more of me you knew. (Walter Scott) The repetition of the whole line in its full form requires interpretation. Superlinear analysis based on associations aroused by the sense of the whole poem suggests that this repetition expresses the regret of the Rover for his Love's unhappy lot. Compare also the repetition in the line of Thomas Moore's: "Those evening bells! Those evening bells. Meditation, sadness, reminiscence and other psychological and emotional states of mind are suggested by the repetition.

The distributional model of repetition, the aim of which is intensification, is simple: it is immediate succession of the parts repeated. Repetition may also stress monotony of action, it may suggest fatigue or despair, or hopelessness, or doom, as in: "What has my life been? Fag and grind, fag and grind. Turn the wheel, turn the wheel." (Dickens) Here the rhythm of the repeated parts makes the monotony and hopelessness of the speaker's life still more keenly felt. This function of repetition is to be observed in Thomas Hood's poem "The Song of the Shirt" where different forms of repetition are employed. "Work - work - work! Till the brain begins to swim! Work - work - work Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset and seam,Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream." Of course the main idea, that of long and exhausting work, is expressed by lexical means: work 'till the brain begins to swim' and 'the eyes are heavy and dim', till, finally, 'I fall asleep.' But the repetition here strongly enforces this idea and, moreover, brings in additional nuances of meaning. In grammars it is pointed out that the repetition of words connected by the conjunction and will express reiteration or frequentative action. For example: "Fledgeby knocked and rang, and Fledgeby rang and knocked, but no one came." There are phrases containing repetition, which have become lexical units of the English language, as on and on, over and over, again and again and others. They all express repetition or continuity of the action, as in: "He played the tune over and over again." Sometimes this shade of meaning is backed up by meaningful words, as in: "I sat desperately, working and working." "They talked and talked all night." "The telephone rang and rang but no one answered." The idea of continuity is expressed here not only by the repetition but also by modifiers such as all night. Background repetition, which we have already pointed out, is sometimes used to stress the ordinarily unstressed elements of the utterance. Here is a good example: "I am attached to you. But I can't consent and won't consent and I never did consent and I never will consent to be lost in you." (Dickens) The emphatic

element in this utterance is not the repeated word 'consent' but the modal words 'can't', 'won't',''will', and also the emphatic 'did'. Thus the repetition here loses its main function and only serves as a means by which other elements are made to stand out clearly. It is worthy of note that in this sentence very strong stress falls on the modal verbs and 'did' but not on the repeated 'consent' as is usually the case with the stylistic device. Like many stylistic devices, repetition is polyfunctional. The functions enumerated do not cover all its varieties. One of those already mentioned, the rhythmical function, must not be underestimated when studying the effects produced by repetition. Most of the examples given above give rhythm to the utterance. In fact any repetition enhances the rhythmical aspect of the utterance. And to conclude, there is a variety of repetition, which we shall call "rootrepetition", as in: "To live again in the youth of the young." (Galsworthy) or, "He loves a dodge for its own sake; being... - the dodgerest of all the dodgers." (Dickens) or, "Schemmer, Karl Schemmer, was abrute, a brutish brute." (London) In root-repetition it is not the same words that are repeated but the same root. Consequently we are faced with different words having different meanings (Youth : young; brutish: brute), but the shades of meaning are perfectly clear. Another variety of repetition may be called synonym repetition. This is the repetition of the same idea by using synonymous words and phrases which by adding a slightly different nuance of meaning intensify the impact of the utterance, as in "...are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes? Is there not blood enough upon your penal code?" (Byron) Here the meaning of the words capital punishments and statutes is repeated in the next sentence by the contextual synonyms blood and penal code. Here is another example from Keats' sonnet "The Grasshopper and the Cricket." "The poetry of earth is never dead... The poetry of earth is ceasing never..." There are two terms frequently used to show the negative attitude of the critic to all kinds of synonym repetitions. These are pleonasm and tautology. The "Shorter Oxford Dictionary" defines pleonasm as "the use of more words in a sentence than are necessary to express the meaning; redundancy of expression." Tautology is defined as "the repetition of the same statement; the repetition (especially in the immediate context) of the same word or phrase or of the same idea or statement in other words; usually as a fault of style." Here are two examples generally given as illustrations: "It was a clear starry night, and not a cloud was to be seen." "He was the only survivor; no one else was saved."

It is not necessary to distinguish between these two terms, the distinction being very fine. Any repetition may be found faulty if it is not motivated by the aesthetic purport of the writer. On the other hand, any seemingly unnecessary repetition of words or of ideas expressed in different words may be justified by the aim of the communication. For example, "The daylight is fading, the sun is setting, and night is coming on" as given in a textbook of English composition is regarded as tautological, whereas the same sentence may serve as an artistic example depicting the approach of night. A certain Russian literary critic has wittily called pleonasm "stylistic elephantiasis," a disease in which the expression of the idea swells up and loses its force. Pleonasm may also be called "the art of wordy silence." Both pleonasm and tautology may be acceptable in oratory inasmuch as they help the audience to grasp the meaning of the utterance. In this case, however, the repetition of ideas is not considered a fault although it may have no aesthetic function. Enumeration is a stylistic device by means of which homogeneous parts of an utterance are made heterogeneous from the semantic point of view. Let us examine the following cases of enumeration: "Famine, despair, cold, thirst and heat had done Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them too..." (Byron) There is hardly anything in this enumeration that could be regarded as making some extra impact on the reader. Each word is closely associated semantically with the following and preceding words in the enumeration, and the effect is what the reader associates with all kinds of consecutive disasters. The utterance is perfectly coherent and there is no halt in the natural flow of the communication. In other words, there is nothing specially to arrest the reader's attention; no effort is required to decipher the message: it yields itself easily to immediate perception. That is not the case in the following passage: "Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend and his sole mourner." (Dickens) The enumeration here is heterogeneous; the legal terms placed in a string with such words as 'friend' and 'mourner' result in a kind of clash, a thing typical of any stylistic device. Here there is a 'dash between terminological vocabulary and common neutral words. In addition there is a clash of concepts: 'friend' and 'mourner' by force of enumeration are equal in significance to the business office of 'executor', 'administrator', etc. and also to that of 'legatee', Enumeration is frequently used as a device to depict scenery through a

tourist's eyes as in Galsworthy's "To Let": "Fleur's wisdom in refusing to write to him was profound, for he reached each new place entirely without hope or fever, and could concentrate immediate attention on the donkeys and tumbling bells, the priests, patios, beggars, children, crowing cocks, sombreros, cactushedges, old high white villages, goats, olive-trees, greening plains, singing birds in tiny cages, water-sellers, sunsets, melons, mules, great churches, pictures, and swimming grey-brown mountains of a fascinating land." The enumeration here is worth analysing. The various elements of this enumeration can be approximately grouped in semantic clusters: 1) donkeys, mules, crowing cocks, goats, singing birds; 2) priests, beggars, children, watersellers; 3) villages, patios, cactus hedges, churches, tumbling bells, sombreros, pictures; 4) sunsets, swimming grey-brown mountains, greening plains, olive-trees, melons. Galsworthy found it necessary to arrange them not according to logical semantic centres, but in some other order; in one, which, apparently, would suggest the rapidly changing impressions of a tourist. Enumeration of this kind assumes a stylistic function and may therefore be regarded as a stylistic device, inasmuch as the objects in the enumeration are not distributed in logical order and therefore become striking. This heterogeneous enumeration gives one an insight into the mind of the observer, into his love of the exotic, into the great variety of miscellaneous objects which caught his eye, it gives an idea of the progress of his travels and the most striking features of the land of Spain as seen by one who is in love with the country. The parts of the enumeration may be likened to the strokes of a painter's brush, which by an inimitable choice of colours presents to our eyes an unforgettable image of the life and scenery of Spain. The passage itself can be likened to a picture drawn for you while you wait. Here is another example of heterogeneous enumeration: "The principle production of these towns... appear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers and dock-yard men." (Dickens. "Pickwick Papers") Suspense is a compositional device, which consists in arranging the matter of a communication in such a way that the less important, descriptive, subordinate parts are amassed at the beginning, the main idea being withheld till the end of the sentence. Thus the reader's attention is held and his interest kept up, for example: "Mankind, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend-M. was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw." (Charles Lamb) Sentences of this type are

called periodic sentences, or period s. Their function is to create suspense, to keep the reader in a state of uncertainty and expectation. Here is a good example of the piling up of details so as to create a state of suspense in the listeners: "But suppose it passed; suppose one of these men, as I have seen them, - meagre with famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life which your Lordships are perhaps about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame: - suppose this man surrounded by the children for whom he is unable to procure bread at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn for ever from a family which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it is not his fault that he can no longer so support; - suppose this man, and there are ten thousand such from whom you may select your victims, dragged into court, to be tried for this new offence, by this new law; still there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him; and these are, in my opinion, - twelve butchers for a jury, and a Jeffreys for a judged (Byron) Here the subject of the subordinate clause of concession ('one of these men') is repeated twice ('this man', 'this man'), each time followed by a number of subordinate parts, before the predicate 'dragged' is reached. All this is drawn together in the principal clause - there are two things wanting..., which was expected and prepared for by the logically incomplete preceding statements. But the suspense is not yet broken: what these two things are, is still withheld until the orator comes to the words 'and these are, in my opinion.' Suspense and climax sometimes go together. In this case all the information contained in the series of statement-clauses preceding the solution-statement are arranged in the order of gradation, as in the example above from Byron's maiden speech in the House of Lords. The device of suspense is especially favoured by orators. This is apparently due to the strong influence of intonation, which helps to create the desired atmosphere of expectation and emotional tension, which goes with it. Suspense always requires long stretches of speech or writing. Sometimes the whole of a poem is built on this stylistic device, as is the case with Kipling's poem "If" where all the eight stanzas consist of if-clauses and only the last two lines constitute the principal clause. "If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you And make allowance for their doubting too,

if you can dream and not make dreams your master, if you can think and not make thoughts your aim, Yours is the earth and. everything, that's in it,,.. And which is more, you'll be a Man, my son." This device is effective in more than one way, but the main purpose is to prepare the reader for the only logical conclusion of the utterance. It is a psychological effect, that is aimed at in particular. A series of parallel questionsentences containing subordinate parts is another structural pattern based on the principle of suspense, for the answer is withheld for a time, as in Byron's "The Bride of Abydos": "Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle... Know ye the land of the cedar and vine... "Tis the clime of the East - 'tis the land of the Sun." The end of an utterance is a specially emphatic part of it. Therefore, if we keep the secret of a communication until we reach the end, it will lead to concentration of the reader's or listener's attention, and this is the effect sought. One more example to show how suspense can be maintained: "Proud of his "Hear him!" proud, too of his vote, And lost virginity of oratory, Proud of his learning (just enough to quote) He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory." (Byron) It must be noted that suspense, due to its partly psychological nature (it arouses a feeling of expectation), is framed in one sentence, for there must not be any break in the intonation pattern. Separate sentences would violate the principle of constant emotional tension, which is characteristic of this device. Climax (Gradation). Climax is an arrangement of sentences (or of the homogeneous parts of one sentence) which secures a gradual increase in significance, importance, or emotional tension in the utterance as in: It was a lovely city, a beautiful city, a fair city, a veritable gem of a city." or in "Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul." Gradual increase in emotional evaluation in the first illustration, and in significance in the second, are realized by the distribution of the corresponding lexical items. Each successive unit is perceived as stronger than the preceding one. Of course, there are no objective linguistic criteria to estimate the degree of importance or significance of each constituent. It is only the formal homogeneity of

these component parts and the test of synonymy in the words 'lovely', 'beautiful,' 'fair,' veritable 'gem' in the first example and the relative inaccessibility of the barriers 'wall', 'river', 'crags', 'mountains' together with the epithets 'deep and wide', 'horrid', 'dark and tall' that make us feel the increase in importance of each. A gradual increase in significance may be maintained in three ways: logical, emotional and quantitative. Logical climax is based on the relative importance of the component parts looked at from the point of view of the concepts embodied in them. This relative importance may be evaluated both objectively and subjectively, the author's attitude towards the objects or phenomena in question being disclosed. Thus the following paragraph from Dickens' "Christmas Carol" shows the relative importance in the author's mind of the things and phenomena described: "Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, 'My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?' No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him, and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails, as though they said, 'No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master! The order of the statements shows what the author considers the culmination of the climax. The passage by Dickens should be considered subjective, because there is no general recognition of the relative significance of the statements in the paragraph. The climax in the lines from Byron's "ne barrier..." may be considered objective because such things as 'wall', 'river', 'crags', 'mountains' are objectively ranked according to their accessibility. Emotional climax is based on the relative emotional tension produced by words with emotive meaning, as in the first example, with the words 'lovely', 'beautiful', 'fair'. Of course, emotional climax, based on synonymous strings of words with emotional meaning will inevitably cause certain semantic differences in these words - such is the linguistic nature of stylistic synonyms, but emotional meaning will be the prevailing one. Emotional climax is mainly found in sentences, more rarely in longer syntactical units. This is natural. Emotional charge cannot hold long. As becomes obvious from the analysis of the above examples of climatic order, the arrangement of the component parts calls for parallel construction which, being a kind of syntactical repetition, is frequently accompanied by lexical

repetition. Here is another example of emotional climax built on this pattern: "He was pleased when the child began to adventure across floors on hand and knees; he was gratified, when she managed the trick of balancing herself on two legs; he was delighted when she first said 'ta-ta'; and he was rejoiced when she recognized him and smiled at him." (Alan Paton) Finally we come to quantitative climax. This is an evident increase in the volume of the corresponding concepts, as in: "They looked at hundreds of houses; they climbed thousands of stairs; they inspected innumerable kitchens." (Somerset Maugham) Here the climax is achieved by simple numerical increase. In the following example climax is materialized by setting side by side concepts of measure and time: "Little by little, bit by bit, and day by day, and year by year the baron got the worst of some disputed question." (Dickens) What then are the indispensable constituents of climax? They are: a) the distributional constituent: close proximity of the component parts arranged in increasing order of importance or significance; b) the syntactical pattern: structure of each of the clauses or sentences with possible lexical repetition; c) the connotative constituent: the explanatory context which helps the reader to grasp the gradation, as no... ever once in all his life, nobody ever, nobody. No beggars (Dickens); deep and wide, horrid, dark and tall (Byron); veritable (gem of a city). Climax, like many other stylistic devices, is a means by which the author discloses his world outlook, his evaluation of objective facts and phenomena. The concrete stylistic function of this device is to show the relative importance of things as seen by the author (especially in emotional climax), or to impress upon the reader the significance of the things described by suggested comparison, or to depict phenomena dynamically. Antithesis. In order to characterize a, thing or phenomenon from a specific point of view, it may be necessary not to find points of resemblance or association between it and some other thing or phenomenon, but to find points of sharp contrast, that is, to set one against the other, for example: "A saint abroad, and a devil at home." (Bunyan) "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven." (Milton) A line of demarcation must be drawn between logical opposition and stylistic opposition. Any opposition will be based on the contrasting features of two objects. These contrasting features are represented in pairs of words, which we call antonyms, provided that all the properties of the two objects in question may be set one against another as 'saint' - 'devil', 'reign' - 'serve', 'hell' - 'heaven'. Many word

combinations are built up by means of contrasting pairs, as 'up and down', 'inside and out', 'from top to bottom' and the like. Stylistic opposition, which is given a special name, the term antithesis, is of a different linguistic nature: it is based on relative opposition, which arises out of the context through the expansion of objectively contrasting pairs, as in: Youth is lovely, age is lonely, Youth is fiery, age is frosty; (Longfellow) 1 There is a device (not linguistic but literary), which is called anticlimax. The ideas expressed may be arranged in ascending order of significance, or they may be poetical or elevated, but the final one, which the reader expects to be the culminating one, as in climax, is trifling or farcical. There is a sudden drop from the lofty or serious to the ridiculous. A typical example is Aesop's fable "The Mountain in Labour." "In days of yore, a mighty rumbling was heard in a Mountain. It was said to be in labour, and multitudes flocked together, from far and near, to see what it would produce. After long expectation and many wise conjectures from the by-standers-out popped, a Mouse!" Here we have deliberate anticlimax, which is a recognized form of humour. Anticlimax is frequently used by humorists like Mark Twain and Jerome K. Jerome. In "Three Men in a Boat", for example, a poetical passage is invariably followed by a ludicrous scene. For example, the author expands on the beauties of the sunset on the river and concludes: "But we didn't sail into the world of golden sunset: we went slap into that old punt where the gentlemen were fishing." Another example is: "This war-like speech, received with many a cheer, Had filled them with desire of fame, and beer. "Here the objectively contrasted pair is 'youth' and 'age'. 'Lovely' and 'lonely' cannot be regarded as objectively opposite concepts, but being drawn into the scheme contrasting 'youth' and 'age', they display certain features, which may be counted as antonymical. This is strengthened also by the next line where not only 'youth' and 'age' but also 'fiery' and 'frosty' are objective antonyms. It is not only the semantic aspect, which explains the linguistic nature of antithesis, the structural pattern also plays an important role. Antithesis is generally moulded in parallel construction. The antagonistic features of the two objects or phenomena are more easily perceived when they stand out in similar structures. This is particularly advantageous when the antagonistic features are not inherent in the objects in question but imposed on them. The structural design of antithesis is so important that unless it is conspicuously marked in the utterance, the effect might be lost. It must be

remembered however that so strong is the impact of the various stylistic devices, that they draw into their orbit stylistic elements not specified as integral parts of the device. As we have pointed out, this is often the case with the epithet. The same concerns antithesis. Sometimes it is difficult to single out the elements, which distinguish it from logical opposition. Thus in Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities'" the first paragraph is practically built on opposing pairs. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we are all going direct the other way..." (Dickens) The structural pattern of the utterance, the pairs of objective antonyms as well as of those on which antonymycal meanings are imposed by the force of analogy makes the whole paragraph stylistically significant, and the general device, which makes it so is antithesis. This device is often signalled by the introductory connective but as in "The cold in clime are cold in blood Their love can scarce deserve the name; But mine was like a lava flood. That boils in Etna's breast of flame." (Byron) When but is used as a signal of antithesis, the other structural signal, the parallel arrangement, may not be evident. It may be unnecessary, as in the example above. Antithesis is a device bordering between stylistics and logic. The extremes are easily discernible but most of the cases are intermediate. However it is essential to distinguish between antithesis and what is termed contrast. Contrast is a literary (not a linguistic) device, based on logical opposition between the phenomena set one against another. Here is a good example of contrast. THE RIVER "The river - with the sunlight flashing from its dancing wavelets, gilding gold the grey-green beech-trunks, glinting through the dark, cool wood paths, chasing shadows o'er the shallows, flinging diamonds from the mill-wheels, throwing kisses to the lilies, wantoning with the weir's white waters, silvering moss-grown walls and bridges, brightening every tiny townlet, making sweet each lane and meadow, lying tangled in the rushes, peeping, laughing, from each inlet, gleaming

gay on many a far sail, making soft the air with glory - is a golden fairy stream. But the river - chill and weary, with the ceaseless rain drops falling on its brown and sluggish waters, with the sound as of a woman, weeping low in some dark chamber, while the woods all dark and silent, shrouded in their mists of vapour, stand like ghosts upon the margin, silent ghosts with eyes reproachful like the ghosts of evil actions, like the ghosts of friends neglected - is a spirit-haunted water through the land of vain regrets." (Jerome K. Jerome) The two paragraphs are made into one long span of thought by the signal But and the repetition of the word river after which in both cases a pause is indicated by a dash which suggests a different intonation pattern of the word river. The opposing members of the contrast are the 'sunlight flashing' - 'ceaseless rain drops falling'; 'gilding gold the grey-green beech-trunks, glinting through the dark, cool wood-paths' - 'the woods, all dark and silent, shrouded in their mists of vapour, stand like ghosts...'; 'golden fairy stream' 'spirit-haunted water'. Still there are several things lacking to show a clear case of a stylistic device, viz. the words involved in the opposition do not display any additional nuance of meaning caused by being opposed one to another; there are no true parallel constructions except perhaps the general pattern of the two paragraphs, with all the descriptive parts placed between the grammatical subject and predicate, the two predicates serving as a kind of summing up, thus completing the contrast. 'The river... is a golden fairy stream.' - 'But the river ... is a spirit-haunted water through the land of vain regrets.' The contrast embodied in these two paragraphs is, however, akin to the stylistic device of antithesis. Antithesis has the following basic functions: rhythm-forming cause of the parallel arrangement on which it is founded) copulative; dissevering comparative. These functions often go together and intermingle in their own peculiar manner. But as a rule antithesis displays one of the functions more clearly than the others. This particular function will then be the leading one in the given utterance. An interesting example of antithesis where the predominant comparative function is the madrigal ascribed to Shakespeare: A MADRIGAL "Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care; Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather, Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare: Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, Age is lame: Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold, Youth is wild, and Age is tame: Age, I do abhore thee, Youth, I do adore thee; O my Love, my Love is young! Age, I do defy thee O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st too long. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.202-226). PARTICULAR WAYS OF COMBINING PARTS OF THE UTTERANCE The analysis of syntactical structures, their variety, their super-linear meaning, their stylistic functions cannot be effectively maintained without a thorough investigation of the linguistic features of the means and types of connection between parts of the sentence, between sentences themselves, between syntactical wholes and within the paragraph. For a long time only two types of connection have been under the observation of linguists: - coordination and subordination (parataxis and hypotaxis). The language means of expressing these two types of logical connection of ideas are correspondingly divided into coordinating and subordinating conjunctions. Thus and, but are coordinating, when, because, since and the like are subordinating. Now linguists, getting deeper into the essence of interconnections between parts of the utterance, have come to the conclusion that there are more than these two manners of combining ideas. The interdependence between different parts of the utterance presents a far greater diversity of relations than coordination and subordination alone. Consequently the means of connection - conjunctions and

adverbial connectives - have been discovered to possess a more varied range of grammatical meanings. It now becomes obvious that the division of connectives into two categories is no longer acceptable, especially in stylistics. Moreover the division itself does not reflect the real functions of the connectives. Let us take the following example: "He was sitting quietly at the door of his cottage when suddenly he heard a terrible explosion." Subordinating conjunction when does not introduce a subordinate idea, although from the point of view of traditional grammar the clause which follows the conjunction when will introduce a subordinate clause of time. And it is assumed that what is subordinate in form must also be subordinate in matter. Here again we are faced with the discrepancy between the logical and linguistic approaches to language facts. From a purely grammatical point of view the clause 'when he suddenly...' is subordinate; while from the logical point of view the main idea is embodied in what is formally a subordinate clause. All this goes to show that the means of connection have become polysemantic. They may express different types of interrelation and their meanings will, as is the case with meaningful words, be realized in the given context. On the other hand, the necessity of expressing the exact relation between the parts of the utterance in the written language, and especially in the case of larger utterances, demands new connectives. Language provides these means to meet this requirement. Some adverbs and adverbial phrases have begun to function as connectives and are recognized as such from the morphological point of view. There is a tendency to consider the parts of a two-member coordinate sentence as equal in rank. Therefore whenever we see the coordinating conjunctions and, but, we expect to find equality in the semantic weights of the two parts. But it is not so. Even a superfluous semantic analysis of a few coordinate sentences will prove the contrary. Let us take the following sentence: "The soldier's wound was carefully bandaged and in a few days he was again able to fight." The second clause is clearly semantically dependent on the first. The relation between them is that of cause and effect, and this type of relation implies inequality of rank, which in grammatical terms would be specified as subordination. Consequently the copulative conjunction and here indicates a relation, which it is taken for granted that this conjunction does not express. In other words and may also be used to express subordination of ideas. Thus it follows that the terms coordination and subordination are inadequate to convey the various forms of

interrelation between the component parts of an utterance. Likewise the terms compound and complex sentences do not cover all varieties of utterances that combine two or more ideas. Anyway for stylistic purposes, the division of types of sentences into compound and complex is inapplicable. Another classification is required, and this classification must be based on the relative importance of the utterance or its parts in a larger semantic unit. This relative importance is revealed by different means; for example, by means of mood, tense, word order, use of pronouns and other formal language means. Conjunctions are used not only in their direct syntactical function, but in other functions as well. Thus and in the Shakespeare Sonnet No 66 is used to make each following statement stand out more clearly, On the other hand, subordination and coordination may be effectively expressed by means of participial phrases as, for instance, in: "He stood at the door, listening to the hum of voices from inside, and thinking comfortably of the cold bath that would come later in the day." The participles 'listening' and 'thinking' may also be regarded as means of subordination of ideas, although, be it repeated, this is a formal grammatical approach. According to the semantic criterion, the ideas embodied in the participial phrases in the example above are the main ideas of the utterance. After all, subordination of ideas cannot be discovered by a purely grammatical analysis of the component parts of the sentence; it is the difference in the character of the actions performed that counts here ('stood', 'listening', 'thinking'). There are many grammatical forms and structures, which express the interrelations of the parts of an utterance without the help of conjunctions (signals though they are pointing out these interrelations). Thus, nominative absolute is a grammatical model capable of expressing a subordinate or other relation. The semantic approach however will always outweigh the formal one when a stylistic interpretation of the utterance is necessary. Indeed, in the sentence: "And the first cab having been fetched from the public house, ...Mr. Pickwick and his portmanteau were thrown into the vehicle", the relation between the parts is obvious; it is one of sequence of events. But why should sequence be regarded as a form of subordination? It would be more appropriate to consider both parts semantically equal in rank. Let us compare this sentence with its possible transforms: 1. 'The first cab was fetched from the public house and Mr. Pickwick and his portmanteau were thrown into the vehicle.' or, 2. 'When the first cab was fetched from the public house, Mr. Pickwick and his portmanteau were thrown

into the vehicle.' or, 3. 'After the first cab had been fetched from the public house, Mr. Pickwick and his portmanteau were thrown into the vehicle.' Each of these variants gives a slightly different shade of meaning in regard to the interrelation between the two component parts. The first transform lays equal stress on both parts. The sequence of events is not clearly expressed. It is merely implied. The pause before and is somewhat longer than in the following transforms, thus contributing to the inner rhythm of the utterance. The second transform stresses the more rapid sequence, almost simultaneous, of the two actions. The when here reduces the pause between the two parts and makes the whole utterance more integrated than in the first transform. The third transform lays strong emphasis on the sequence of events as if this sequence were of great significance to the issue in question. The adverb after and the tense form had been fetched stress completion of the first action before the commencement of the second. Now it becomes clear that the third transform could not have been chosen by the author because too much emphasis is laid on the sequence relation. This would have shown a pedantic approach - alien to the principles of emotive prose. The second transform seems likewise to be inappropriate to the purport of the author for the same reason. Neither the simultaneousness nor the sequence of actions concern the writer. So there remain only two variants: the one given by the author and our first transform. The choice in favour of the participial construction is apparently due to two reasons: 1) the humorous character of the whole of the "Papers", this utterance included, and 2) the aesthetic principle - to avoid the repetition of and in close succession. The first principle manifests itself in the mixture of two stylistic aspects, viz. the official atmosphere of the nominative absolute construction on the one hand and the information itself, which is far from being official, viz. the 'first cab', 'Mr. Pickwick and his portmanteau,' 'were thrown'. A comparatively wide range of relations is expressed through the nominative absolute and other participial constructions. Infinitive constructions, being formally dependent on a part of the sentence containing a finite verb may also be regarded as a means of subordination. In the sentence: "He was too ill to attend the lecture," the infinitive construction performs the function of a subordinate clause expressing result. For stylistic purposes it is important to distinguish degrees of subordination between the parts of a sentence as well as the closeness of the connection between relatively independent statements. An estimation of the degree of independence

will contribute to the correct interpretation of the intonation pattern of the utterance and thus help to get at the purport of the author. Asyndeton, that is connection between parts of a sentence or between sentences without any formal sign, becomes a stylistic device if there is a deliberate omission of the connective where it is generally expected to be according to the norms of the literary language. Here is an example: "Soames turned away; he had an utter disinclination for talk, like one standing before an open grave, watching a coffin slowly lowered." (Galsworthy) The deliberate omission of the subordinate conjunction because or for makes the sentence 'he had an utter...' almost entirely independent. It might be perceived as a characteristic feature of Soames in general, but for the comparison, beginning with like, which shows that Soames's mood was temporary. Here a reminder is necessary that there is an essential difference between the ordinary norms of language, both literary and colloquial, and stylistic devices, which are skilfully wrought for special informative and aesthetic purposes. In the sentence: "Bicket did not answer his throat felt too dry." (Galsworthy) the absence of the conjunction and a punctuation mark may be regarded as a deliberate introduction of the norms of colloquial speech into the literary language. Such structures make the utterance sound like one syntactical unit to be pronounced in one breath group. This determines the intonation pattern. It is interesting to compare the preceding two utterances from the point of view of the length of the pause between the constituent parts. In the first utterance (Soames...), there is a semicolon which, being the indication of a longish pause, breaks the utterance into two parts. In the second utterance (Bicket...), no pause should be made and the whole of the utterance pronounced as one syntagm. The crucial problem in ascertaining the true intonation pattern of a sentence composed of two or more parts lies in a deeper analysis of the functions of the connectives on the one hand, and a more detailed investigation of graphical means - the signals indicating the correct interpretation of the utterance - on the other. Polysyndeton is the stylistic device of connecting sentences or phrases or syntagms or words by using connectives (mostly conjunctions and prepositions) before each component part as in: "The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect." (Dickens) In this passage from Longfellow's "The Song of Hiawatha", there is repetition both of conjunctions and prepositions. "Should you ask me, whence these stories?

Whence these legends and traditions, With the odours of the forest, With the dew, and damp of meadows, With the curling smoke of wigwams, With the rushing of great rivers, With their frequent repetitions,..." The repetition of conjunctions and other means of connection makes an utterance more rhythmical; so much so that prose may even seem like verse. The conjunctions and other connectives, being generally unstressed elements, when placed before each meaningful member will cause the alternation of stressed and unstressed syllables - the essential requirement of rhythm in verse. Hence one of the functions of polysyndeton is a rhythmical one. In addition to this, polysyndeton has a disintegrating function. It generally combines homogeneous elements of thought into one whole resembling enumeration. But unlike enumeration, which integrates both homogeneous and heterogeneous elements into one whole, polysyndeton causes each member of a string of facts to stand out conspicuously. That is why we say that polysyndeton has a disintegrating function. Enumeration shows things united; polysyndeton shows them isolated. Polysyndeton has also the function of expressing sequence, as in: "Then Mr. Boffin... sat staring at a little bookcase of Law Practice and Law Reports, and at a window, and at an empty blue bag, and a stick of sealing-wax, and at a pen, and a box of wafers, and an apple, and a writing-pad - all very dusty - and at a number of inky smears and blots, and at an imperfectly disguised gun-case pretending to be something legal, and at an iron box labelled "Harmon Estate", until Mr. Lightwood appeared." (Dickens) All these ands may easily be replaced by thens. But in this case too much stress would be laid on the logical aspects of the utterance, whereas and expresses both sequence and disintegration. Note also that Dickens begins by repeating not only and, but also at. But in the middle of the utterance he drops the at, picks it up again, drops it once more and then finally picks it up and uses it with the last three items. The Gap-Sentence Link. There is a peculiar type of connection of sentences, which for want of another term we shall call the Gap-Sentence Link (G. S.L.). The connection therefore is not immediately apparent and it requires a certain mental effort to grasp the interrelation between the parts of the utterance, in other words, to bridge the semantic gap. Here is an example. "She and that fellow ought

to be the sufferers, and -they were in Italy." (Galsworthy) In this sentence the second part, which is hooked on to the first by the conjunction and, seems to be unmotivated or, in other words, the whole sentence seems to be logically incoherent. But this is only the first impression. After a more careful superlinear semantic analysis it becomes clear that the exact logical variant of the utterance would be: 'Those who ought to suffer were enjoying themselves in Italy (where well-to-do English people go for holidays).' Consequently G.S.L. is a way of connecting two sentences seemingly unconnected and leaving it to the reader's perspicacity to grasp the idea implied, but not worded. Generally speaking, every detail of the situation need not be stated. Some must remain for the reader to divine. As in many other cases, the device of G.S.L. is deeply rooted in the norms of the spoken language. The omissions are justified because the situation easily prompts what has not been said. The proper intonation, also helps in deciphering the communication. It is also natural in conversation to add a phrase to a statement made, a phrase which will point to uncertainty or lack of knowledge or to the unpredictability of the possible issue, etc., as in: "She says nothing, but it is clear that she is harping on this engagement, and - goodness knows what." (Galsworthy) In writing, where the situation is explained by the writer and the intonation is only guessed at, such breaks in the utterance are regarded as stylistic devices. The gap-sentence link requires a certain mental effort to embrace the unexpressed additional information. The gap-sentence link is generally indicated by and or but. There is no asyndetic G.S.L., inasmuch as connection by asyndeton can be carried out only by semantic ties easily and immediately perceived. These ties are, as it were, substitutes for the formal grammatical means of connection. The gapsentence link has no immediate semantic connections, therefore it requires formal indications of connection. It demands an obvious break in the semantic texture of the utterance and forms an "unexpected semantic leap." The possibility of filling in the semantic gap depends largely on associations awakened by the two sentences linked cumulatively. In the following utterance the connection between the two sentences needs no comment. "It was an afternoon to dream. And she took out Jon's letters." While maintaining the unity of the utterance syntactically the author leaves the interpretation of the link between the two sentences to the mind of the reader. It is the imaginative mind only that can decode a message expressed by a stylistic

device. Nowhere do the conjunctions and and but acquire such varied expressive shades of meaning as in G. S. L. constructions. It is these nuances that cause the -peculiar intonation with which and or but are pronounced. Thus in the following sentence the conjunction and is made very conspicuous by the intonation signalled by the dash: "The Forsytes were resentful of something, not individually, but as a family, this resentment expressed itself in an added perfection of raiment, an exuberance of family cordiality, an exaggeration of family importance, and - the sniff." (Galsworthy) The G. S. L. and - the sniff is motivated. Its association with an exaggeration of family importance is apparent. However, so strong is the emotive meaning of the word sniff that it overshadows the preceding words, which are used in their primary, exact, logical meanings. Hence the dash after and to add special significance to the cumulative effect. This example shows that G. S. L. can be accompanied by semantic gaps wider or narrower as the case may be. In this example the gap is very narrow and therefore the missing link is easily restored. But sometimes the gap is so wide that it requires a deep superlinear semantic analysis to get at the implied meaning. Thus in the following example from Byron's maiden speech: "And here I must remark with what alacrity you are accustomed to fly to the succour of your distressed allies, leaving the distressed of your own country to the care of Providence or - the parish." Here the G. S. L., maintained by or and followed by the dash, which indicates a rather long pause, implies that the parish, which was supposed to care for impoverished workers, was unable to do so. By its intrinsic nature the conjunction but can justify the apparently unmotivated coupling of two unconnected statements. Thus in the following passage G. S. L. maintained by and is backed up by but. "It was not Capetown, where people only frowned when they saw a black boy and a white girl. But here... And he loved her." The gap-sentence link as a stylistic device is based on the peculiarities of the spoken language and is therefore most frequently used in represented speech. It is G. S. L. alongside other characteristics that moulds the device of unuttered represented speech. The gap-sentence link has various functions. It may serve to signal the introduction of inner represented speech; it may be used to indicate a subjective evaluation of the facts; it may introduce an effect resulting from a cause, which has already had verbal expression. In all these functions G. S. L, displays an unexpected coupling of ideas. Even the cause and effect relations, logical as they

are, when embodied in G. S. L. structures are not so obvious. In contra-distinction to the logical segmentation of the utterance, which leaves no room for personal interpretation of the interdependence of the component parts, G. S. L. aims at stirring up in the reader's mind the suppositions, associations and conditions under which the sentence uttered can really exist. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.226-234). PECULIAR USE OF COLLOQUIAL CONSTRUCTIONS Emotional syntactical structures typical of the spoken language are those used in informal and intimate conversation where personal feelings are introduced into the utterance. They are common in dialogue and in dialogue are hardly perceived as special devices, but they stand out in the written language. Ellipsis Ellipsis is a typical phenomenon in conversation, arising out of the situation. We mentioned this peculiar feature of the spoken language when we characterized its essential qualities and properties. But this typical feature of the spoken language assumes a new quality when used in the written language. It becomes a stylistic device, inasmuch as it supplies supersegmental information. An elliptical sentence in direct intercourse is not a stylistic device. It is simply a norm of the spoken language. Let us take a few examples. "So Justice Oberwallzer - solemnly and didactically from his high seat to the jury." (Dreiser) One feels very acutely the absence of the predicate in this sentence. Why was it omitted? Did the author pursue any special purpose in leaving out a primary member of the sentence? Or is it just due to carelessness? The answer is obvious: it is a deliberate device. This particular model of sentence suggests the author's personal state of mind, viz. his indignation at the shameless speech of the Justice. It is a common fact that any excited state of mind will manifest itself in some kind of violation of the recognized literary sentence structure. Ellipsis, when used as a stylistic device, always imitates the common features of colloquial language, where the situation predetermines not the omission of certain members of the sentence, but their absence. It would perhaps be adequate to call sentences 1acking certain members "incomplete sentences", leaving the term ellipsis to specify structures where we recognize a digression from the traditional literary sentence structure. Thus the sentences 'See you to-morrow.', 'Had a good time.', 'Won't do.', 'You say that?' are typical of the colloquial language. Nothing is omitted here. These are normal

syntactical structures in the spoken language and to call them elliptical, means to judge every sentence structure according to the structural models of the written language. Likewise such sentences as the following can hardly be called elliptical. "There's somebody wants to speak to you." "There was no breeze came through the open window." (Hemingway) "There's many a man in this Borough would be glad to have the blood that runs in my veins." (Cronin) The relative pronouns who, which, who after 'somebody', 'breeze', 'a man in this Borough' could not be regarded as "omitted" - this is the norm of colloquial language, though now not in frequent use except perhaps with the there is (are) constructions as above. This is due, perhaps, to the standardizing power of the literary language. O. Jespersen, in his analysis of such structures, writes: "If we speak here of 'omission' or 'subaudition' or 'ellipsis,' the reader is apt to get the false impression that the fuller expression is the better one as being complete, and that the shorter expression is to some extent faulty or defective, or something that has come into existence in recent times out of slovenliness. This is wrong: the constructions are very old in the language and have not come into existence through the dropping of a previously necessary relative pronoun."1 Here are some examples quoted by Jespersen: "I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits." "...or like the snow falls in the river." "...when at her door arose a clatter might awake the dead." However when the reader encounters such structures in literary texts, even though they aim at representing the lively norms of the spoken language, he is apt to regard them as bearing some definite stylistic function. This is due to a psychological effect produced by the relative rarity of the construction, on the one hand, and the nonexpectancy of any strikingly colloquial expression in literary narrative. It must be repeated here that the most characteristic feature of the written variety of language is amplification, which by its very nature is opposite to ellipsis. Amplification generally demands expansion of the ideas with as full and as exact relations between the parts of the utterance as possible. Ellipsis being the property of colloquial language, on the contrary, does not express what can easily be supplied by the situation. This is perhaps the reason that elliptical sentences are rarely used as stylistic devices. Sometimes the omission of a link verb adds emotional colouring and makes the sentence sound more emphatic, as in these lines from Byron: "Thrice happy he who, after survey of the good company, can win a corner." "Nothing so difficult as a beginning." "Denotes how soft the chin which

bears his touch." It is wrong to suppose that the omission of the link verbs in these sentences is due to the requirements of the rhythm. Break-in-the-Narrative (Aposiopesis). Aposiopesis is a device, which dictionaries define as "A stopping short for rhetorical effect." This is true. But this definition is too general to disclose the stylistic functions of the device. In thespoken variety of the language a break in the narrative is usually caused by unwillingness to proceed; or by the supposition that what remains to be said can be understood by the implication embodied in what was said; or by uncertainty as to what should be said. In the written variety a break in the narrative is always a stylistic device used for some stylistic effect. It is difficult, however, to draw a hard and fast distinction between break-in-the-narrative as a typical feature of lively colloquial language and as a specific stylistic device. The only criterion which may serve as a guide is that in conversation the implication can be conveyed by an adequate gesture. In writing it is the context, which suggests the adequate intonation, that is the only key to decoding the aposiopesis. In the following example the implication of the aposiopesis is a warning: "If you continue your intemperate way of living, in six months' time ..." In the sentence: "You just come home or I'll ..." the implication is a threat. The second example shows that without a context the implication can only be vague. But when one knows, that the words were said by an angry father to his son over the telephone the implication becomes apparent. Aposiopesis is a stylistic syntactical device to convey to the reader a very strong upsurge of emotions. The idea of this stylistic device is that the speaker cannot proceed, his feelings depriving him of the ability to express himself in terms of language. Thus in Don Juan's address to Julia, who is left behind: "And oh! if e'er I should forget, I swear But that's impossible, and cannot be." (Byron) Break-in-the-narrative has a strong degree of predictability, which is ensured by the structure of the sentence. As a stylistic device it is used in complex sentences, in particular in conditional sentences, the clause being" given in full and the second part only implied. However aposiopesis may be noted in different syntactical structures. Thus one of Shelley's poems is entitled "To - ", which is an aposiopesis of a different character inasmuch as the implication here is so vague that it can be likened to a secret code. Indeed, no one except those in the know would be able to

find out to whom the poem was addressed. Sometimes a break in the narrative is caused by euphemistic considerations-unwillingness to name a thing on the ground of its being offensive to the ear, for example: "Then, Mamma, I hardly like to let the words cross my lips, but they have wicked, wicked attractions out there - like dancing girls that - that charm snakes and dance without- Miss Moir with downcast eyes, broke off significantly and blushed, whilst the down on her upper lip quivered modestly." Break-in-the-narrative is a device, which, on the one hand, offers a number of variants in deciphering the implication and, on the other, is highly predictable. The problem of implication is, as it were, a crucial one in stylistics. What is implied sometimes outweighs what is expressed. In other stylistic devices the degree of implication is not so high as in break-in-thenarrative. A sudden break in the narrative will inevitably focus the attention on what is left unsaid. Therefore the interrelation between what is given and what is new becomes more significant, inasmuch as the given is what is said and the new what is left unsaid. There is a phrase in colloquial English, which has become very familiar. "Good intentions but - " The implication here is that nothing has come of what it was planned to accomplish. Aposiopesis is a stylistic device in which the role of the intonation implied cannot be overestimated. The pause after the break is generally charged with meaning and it is the intonation only that will decode the communicative significance of the utterance. Question-in-the- Narrative. Questions, being both structurally and semantically one of the types of sentences, are asked by one person and expected to be answered by another. This is the main, and the most characteristic property of the question, i. e. it exists as a syntactical unit of language to bear this particular function in communication. Essentially, questions belong to the spoken language and presuppose the presence of an interlocutor, that is, they are commonly encountered in dialogue. The questioner is presumed not to know the answer. Question-in- the-narrative changes the real nature of a question and turns it into a stylistic device. A question in the narrative is asked and answered by one and the same person, usually the author. It becomes akin to a parenthetical statement with strong emotional implications. Here are some cases of question-in-thenarrative taken from Byron's "Don Juan": 1) "For what is left the poet herd For Greeks a blush - for Greece a tear." 2) "And starting, she awoke, and what to view's'

Oh, Powers of Heaven. What dark eye meets she there? "Tis-'tis her father's-fix'd upon the pair." As is seen from these examples the questions asked, unlike rhetorical questions do not contain statements. But being answered by one who knows the answer, they assume a semi-exclamatory nature, as in 'what to view?' Sometimes question-in-the-narrative gives the impression of an intimate talk between the writer and the reader. For example: "Scrooge knew he was dead'? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years." (Dickens) Question-in-the-narrative is very often used in oratory. This is explained by one of the leading features of oratorical style - to induce the desired reaction to the content of the speech. Questions here chain the attention of the listeners to the matter the orator is dealing with and prevent it from wandering. They also give the listeners time to absorb what has been said, and prepare for the next point. Question-in-thenarrative may also remain unanswered as in: "How long must it go on? How long must we suffer? Where is the end? What is the end?" (Norris) These sentences show a gradual transition to rhetorical questions. There are only hints of the possible answers. Indeed, the first and the second questions suggest that the existing state of affairs should be put an end to and that we should not suffer any longer. The third and the fourth questions suggest that the orator himself could not find a solution to the problem. "The specific nature of interrogative sentences," writes P. S. Popov, "which are transitional stages from what we know to what we do not yet know, is reflected in the interconnection between the question and the answer. The interrogative sentence is connected with the answer-sentence far more closely than the inference is connected with two interrelated pronouncements, because each of the two pronouncements has its own significance; whereas the significance of the interrogative sentence is only in the process of seeking the answer." This very interesting statement concerning the psychological nature of the question however, does not take into consideration the stimulating aspect of the question. When a question begins to fulfill a function not directly arising from its linguistic and psychological nature, it may have a certain volume of emotional charge. Question-in-the-narrative is a case of this kind. Here its function deviates slightly from its general signification. This deviation (being in fact a modification of the general function of interrogative sentences), is much more clearly apparent in rhetorical questions.

Represented Speech. There are three ways of reproducing actual speech: a) repetition of the exact utterance as it was spoken (direct speech), b) conversion of the exact utterance into the relater's mode of expression (indirect speech), and c) representation of the actual utterance by a second person, usually the author, as if it had been spoken, whereas it has not really been spoken but is only represented in the author's words (represented speech). There is also a device, which conveys to the reader the unuttered or inner speech of the character, thus presenting his thoughts and feelings. This device is also termed represented speech. To distinguish between the two varieties of represented speech we call the representation of the actual utterance through the author's language uttered represented speech, and the representation of the thoughts and feelings of the character unuttered or inner represented speech. The term direct speech came to be used in the belles-lettres style in order to distinguish the words of the character from the author's words. Actually direct speech is a quotation. Therefore it is always introduced by a verb like say, utter, declare, reply, exclaim, shout, cry, yell, gasp, babble, chuckle, murmur, sigh, call, beg, implore, comfort, assure, protest, object, command, admit, and others. All these words help to indicate the intonation with which the sentence was actually uttered. Direct speech is always marked by inverted commas as any quotation is. Here is an example: "You want your money back, I suppose," said George with a sneer. "Of course I do - I always did, didn't I?" says Dobbin. (W. M. Thackeray) The most important feature of the spoken language, that is, intonation, is indicated by different means. In the example above we have 1) graphical means: the dash after 'I do', 2) lexical: the word 'sneer', and 3) grammatical: a) morphological - different tenses of the verb to say ('said' and 'says'), b) syntactical: the disjunctive question - 'didn't I?'. Direct speech is sometimes used in the publicistic style as a quotation. The introductory words in this case are usually the following: as..., has it, according to..., and the like. In the belles-lettres style direct speech is used to depict a character through his speech. In the emotive prose of the belles-lettres style where the predominant form of utterance is narrative, direct speech is inserted to more fully depict the characters of the novel. In the other variety of the belles-lettres prose style, i.e. in plays, the predominant form of utterance is dialogue. In spite of the various graphical and lexical ways of indicating the proper intonation of a given utterance, the subtleties

of the intonation design required by the situation cannot be accurately conveyed. The richness of the human voice can only be suggested. Direct speech can be viewed as a stylistic device only in its setting in the midst of the author's narrative or in contrast to all forms of indirect speech. Even when an author addresses the reader, we cannot classify the utterance as direct speech. Direct speech is only the speech of a character in a piece of emotive prose. We have indirect speech when the actual words of a character, as it were, pass through the author's mouth in the course of his narrative and in this process undergo certain changes. The intonation of indirect speech is even and does not differ from the rest of the author's narrative. The graphical substitutes for the intonation give way to lexical units, which describe the intonation pattern. Sometimes indirect speech takes the form of a precis in which only the main points of the actual utterance are given. Thus, for instance, in the following passage: "Marshal asked the crowd to disperse and urged responsible diggers to prevent any disturbance which would prolong the tragic force of the rush for which the publication of inaccurate information was chiefly responsible." In grammars there are rules according to which direct speech can be converted into indirect. These rules are logical in character, they merely indicate what changes must be introduced into the utterance due to change in the situation. Thus the sentence: "Your mother wants you to go upstairs immediately" corresponds to "Tell him to come upstairs immediately." When direct speech is converted into indirect, the author not infrequently interprets in his own way the manner in which the direct speech was uttered, thus very often changing the emotional colouring of the whole. Hence indirect speech may fail entirely to reproduce the actual emotional colouring of the direct speech and distort it unrecognizably. A change of meaning is inevitable when direct speech is turned into indirect or vice-versa, inasmuch as any modification of form calls forth a slight difference in meaning. It is probably due to this fact that in order to convey actual utterances of characters in emotive prose more adequately, a new way to represent direct speech came into being, that is, represented speech. Represented speech is that form of utterance, which conveys the actual words of the speaker through the mouth of the writer but retains the peculiarities of the speaker's mode of expression. Represented speech exists in two varieties: 1) uttered represented speech and 2) unuttered or inner represented speech. a) Uttered represented speech.

Uttered represented speech demands that the tense should be switched from present to past and that the personal pronouns should be changed from 1st and 2nd person to 3rd person as in indirect speech, but the syntactical structure of the utterance does not change. For example: "Could he bring a reference from where he now was? He could." (Dreiser)? An interesting example of three ways of representing actual speech is to be seen in a conversation between Old Jolyon and June in Galsworthy's "Man of Property." "Old Jolyon was on the alert at once. Wasn't the "man of property" going to live in his new house, then? He never alluded to Soames now but under this title. 'No",- June said - "he was not; she knew that he was not!" How did she know? She could not tell him, but she knew. Slie knew nearly for certain. It was most unlikely; circumstances had changed!" The first sentence is the author's speech. In the second sentence 'Wasn't the "man..."' there is uttered represented speech: the actual speech must have been Isn't the ...'. This sentence is followed by one from the author: 'He never...' Then again comes uttered represented speech marked off in inverted commas, which is not usual. The direct speech "No", the introductory 'June said' and the following inverted commas make the sentence half direct half uttered represented speech. The next sentence 'How did she know?' and the following one are clear-cut models of uttered represented speech: all the peculiarities of direct speech are preserved, i.e., the repetition of 'she knew,' the colloquial 'nearly for certain,' the absence of any connective between the last two sentences and finally the mark of exclamation at the end of the passage. And yet the tenses and pronouns here show that the actual utterance passes through the author's mouth. Two more examples will suffice to illustrate the use of uttered represented speech, "A maid came in now with a blue gown very thick and soft. Could she do anything for Miss Freeland? No, thanks, she could not, only, did she know where Mr. Freeland's room was?' (Galsworthy) The shift from the author's speech to the uttered represented speech of the maid is marked only by the change in the syntactical pattern of the sentences from declarative to interrogative, or from the narrative pattern to the conversational. Sometimes the shift is almost imperceptible - the author's narrative sliding over into the character's utterance without any formal indications of the switch over, as in the following passage: "She had known him for a full year when, in London for a while and as usual alone, she received a note from him to say that he had to come up to town for a night and couldn't they dine together and go to some place to dance. She thought it very sweet of him to take pity on her solitariness and

accepted with pleasure. They spent a delightful evening." This manner of inserting uttered represented speech within the author's narrative is not common. It is peculiar to the style of a number of modern English and American writers. The more usual structural model is one where there is either an indication of the shift by some introductory word (smiled, said, asked, etc.) or by a formal break like a full stop at the end of the sentence as in: "In consequence he was quick to suggest a walk... Didn't Clyde want to go?" (Dreiser) Uttered represented speech has a long history. As far back as the 18th century it was already widely used by men-ofletters, evidently because it was a means by which what was considered, vulgar might be excluded from literature: i.e. expletives, vivid colloquial words, expressions and syntactical structures typical of the lively colloquial speech of the period. Indeed, when direct speech is represented by the writer, he can change the actual utterance into any mode of expression he considers appropriate. In Fielding's "History of Tom Jones the Foundling" we find various ways of introducing uttered represented speech. Here are some interesting examples: "When dinner was over, and the servants departed, Mr. All-worthy began to harangue. He set forth, in a long speech, the iniquities of which Jones had been guilty, particularly those which this day had brought to light; and concluded by telling him, 'That unless he could clear himself of the charge, he was resolved to banish him from his sight for ever.' In this passage there is practically no represented speech, inasmuch as the words marked off by inverted commas are indirect speech, i.e., the author's speech with no elements of the character's speech, and the only signs of the change in the form of the utterance are the inverted commas and the capital letter of 'That'. The following paragraph is built on the same pattern. "His heart was, besides, almost broken already; and his spirits were so sunk, that he could say nothing for himself but acknowledge the whole, and, like a criminal in despair, threw himself upon mercy; concluding, 'that though he must own himself guilty of many follies and inadvertencies, he hoped he had done nothing to deserve what would be to him the greatest punishment in the world.' Here again the introductory 'concluding' does not bring forth direct speech but is a natural continuation of the author's narrative. The only indication of the change is the inverted commas. Mr. Alworthy's answer is also built on the same pattern, the only modification being the direct speech at the end. "- Alworthy answered, "That he had forgiven him too often already, in compassion to his youth, and in hopes of his amendment:

that he now found he was an abandoned reprobate, and such as it would be criminal in any one to support and encourage," 'Nay,' said Mr. Alworthy to him, 'your audacious attempt to steal away the young lady, calls upon me to justify my own character in punishing you.-' Then follows a long speech by Mr. Alworthy not differing from indirect speech (the author's speech) either in structural design or in the choice of words. A critical analysis will show that the direct speech of the characters in the novel must have undergone considerable polishing up in order to force it to conform to the literary norms of the period. Colloquial speech, emotional, inconsistent and spontaneous, with its vivid intonation suggested by elliptical sentences, breaks in the narrative, fragmentariness and lack of connectives, was banned from literary usage and replaced by the impassionate substitute of indirect speech. Almost in any work of 18th century literary art one will find that the spoken language is adapted to conform to the norms of the written language of the period. It is only at the beginning of the 19th century that the elements of colloquial English began to elbow their way into the sacred precincts of the English literary language. The more the process became apparent, the more the conditions that this created became favourable for the introduction of uttered represented speech as a literary device. Nowadays, this device is used not only in the belles-lettres style. It is also efficiently used in newspaper style. Here is an example: "Mr. Silverman, his Parliamentary language scarcely concealing his bitter disappointment, accused the government of breaking its pledge and of violating constitutional proprieties. Was the government basing its policy not on the considered judgement of the House of Commons, but on the considered judgement of the House of Lords? Would it not be a grave breach of constitutional duty, not to give the House a reasonable opportunity of exercising its rights under the Parliament Act?" "Wait for the terms of the Bill," was Eden's reply. Uttered represented speech in newspaper communications is somewhat different from that in the belles-lettres style. In the former, it is generally used to quote the words of speakers in Parliament or at public meetings. In the modern belles-lettres prose style, the speech of the characters is modeled on natural colloquial patterns. The device of uttered represented speech enables the writer to reshape the utterance according to the normal polite literary usage. b) Unuttered or inner represented speech

As has often been pointed out, language has two functions: the communicative and the expressive. The communicative function serves to convey one's thoughts, volitions, emotions and orders to the mind of a second person. The expressive function serves to shape one's thoughts and emotions into language forms. This second function is believed to be the only way of materializing thoughts and emotions. Without language forms thought is not yet thought but only something being shaped as thought. This process of materializing one's thoughts by means of language units is called inner speech.. Inasmuch as inner speech has no communicative function it is very fragmentary, incoherent, isolated, and consists of separate units. They only hint at the content of the utterance but do not word it explicitly. Inner speech is a psychological phenomenon. But when it is wrought into full utterance, rt ceases to be inner speech, acquires a communicative function and becomes a phenomenon of language. The expressive function of language is suppressed by its communicative function, and the reader is presented with a complete language unit capable of carrying information. This device is called inner represented speech. However the language forms of inner represented speech bear a resemblance to the psychological phenomenon of inner speech. Inner represented speech retains the most characteristic features of inner speech. It is also fragmentary, but only to an extent, which will not hinder the understanding of the communication, as is the case with inner speech proper. Inner represented speech, unlike uttered represented speech, expresses feelings and thoughts of the character, which were not materialized in spoken or written language. That is why it abounds in exclamatory words and phrases, elliptical constructions, breaks, and other means of conveying the feelings and psychological state of the character. When a person is alone with his thoughts and feelings, he can give vent to those strong emotions, which he usually keeps hidden. Here is an example from Galsworthy's "Man of Property": "His nervousness about this disclosure irritated him profoundly; she had no business to make him feel like that - a wife and a husband being one person. She had not looked at him once since they sat down, and he wondered what on earth she had been thinking about all the time. It was hard, when a man worked hard as he did, making money for her - yes and with an ache in his heart - that she should sit there, looking - looking as if she saw the walls of the room closing in. It was enough to make a man get up and leave the table."

The inner speech of Soames Forsyte is here introduced by two words describing his state of mind- 'irritated' and 'wondered.' The colloquial aspect of the language in which Soames's thoughts and feelings are expressed is obvious. He uses colloquial collocations: 'she had no business,' 'what on earth,' 'like that' and colloquial constructions: 'yes and with...' 'looking - looking as if ...', and the words used are common colloquial. Unuttered or inner represented speech follows the same morphological pattern as uttered represented speech, but the syntactical pattern shows variations to be accounted for by the fact that it is inner speech-, not uttered speech. The tense forms are shifted to the past; the third person personal pronouns replace the first and second. The interrogative word order is maintained as in direct speech. The fragmentary character of the utterance manifests itself in unfinished sentences, exclamations and in one-member sentences. Here is another example: "An idea had occurred to Soames. His cousin Jolyon was Irene's trustee, the first step would be to go down and see him at Robin Hill. Robin Hill! The odd-the very odd feeling those words brought back. Robin Hill - the house Bosinney had built for him and Irene - the house they had never lived in - the fatal house! And Jolyon lived there now! H'm!" (Galsworthy) This device is undoubtedly an excellent one to depict a character. It gives the writer an opportunity to show the inner springs, which guide his character's actions and utterances. Being a combination of the author's speech and that of the character, inner represented speech on the one hand fully discloses the feelings and thoughts of the character, his world outlook, and on the other hand, through efficient and sometimes hardly perceptible interpolations by the author himself, makes the desired impact on the reader. In English literature this device has gained vogue in the works of the writers of the last two centuries, especially in the works of Jane Austen, Thackeray, Dickens, Charlotte and Emily Bronte, Jack London, Galsworthy, Dreiser, Somerset Maugham and others. Every writer has his own way of using represented speech. Careful linguistic analysis of individual peculiarities in using it will show its wide range of function and will expand the hitherto limited notions of its use. Inner represented speech, unlike uttered represented speech, is usually introduced by verbs of mental perception as think, meditate, feel, occur (an idea occurred to...), wonder, ask, tell oneself, understand and the like. For example: "Over and over he was asking himself: would she receive him? would she recognize him? what should he say to her?" "Why weren't things going well between them? he

wondered." Very frequently, however, inner represented speech thrusts itself into the narrative of the author without any introductory words and the shift from the author's speech to inner represented speech is more or less imperceptible. Sometimes the one glides into the other, sometimes there is a sudden clear-cut change in the mode of expression. Here are a few examples of both varieties: "Butler was sorry that he had called his youngest a baggage; but these children -God bless his soul-were a great annoyance. Why, in the name of all the saints, wasn't this house good enough for them?" (Dreiser) The only indication of the transfer from the author's speech to inner represented speech is the semicolon, which suggests a longish pause. The emotional tension of the inner represented speech is enhanced by the emphatic 'these' (in 'these children'), by the exclamatory sentences 'God bless his soul' and 'in the name of all the saints.' This emotional charge gives an additional shade of meaning to the 'was sorry' in the author's statement, viz. Butler was sorry, but he was also trying to justify himself for calling his daughter names. And here is an example of a practically imperceptible shift: "Then, too, in old Jolyon's mind was always the secret ache that the son of James-of James, whom he had always thought such a poor thing, should be pursuing the paths of success, while his own son - !" (Galsworthy) In this passage there are hardly any signs of the shift except perhaps the repetition of the words 'of James'. Then comes what is half the author's narrative, half the thoughts of the character, the inner speech coming to the surface in 'poor thing' (a colloquialism) and the sudden break after 'his own son' and the mark of exclamation. Inner represented speech remains the monopoly of the belles-lettres style, and especially of emotive prose, a variety of it. There is hardly any likelihood of this device being used in other styles, due to its specific function, which is to penetrate into the inner life of the personages of an imaginary world, which is the exclusive domain of belles-lettres. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.234-248). TRANSFERRED USE OF STRUCTURAL MEANING On analogy with transference of lexical meaning, in which words are used other than in their primary logical sense, syntactical structures may also be used in meanings other than their primary ones. Every syntactical structure has its definite function, which is sometimes called its structural meaning. When a structure is used in some other function it may be said to assume a new meaning, which is similar to lexical transferred meaning. Among syntactical stylistic devices there

are two in which this transference of structural meaning is to be seen. They are rhetorical questions and litotes. Rhetorical Questions The rhetorical question is a special syntactical stylistic device the essence of which consists in reshaping the grammatical meaning of the interrogative sentence. In other words, the question is no longer a question but a statement expressed in the, form of an interrogative sentence. Thus there is an interplay of two structural meanings: 1) that of the question and 2) that of the statement. Both are materialized simultaneously. For example: "Are these the remedies for a starving and desperate populace?" "Is there not blood enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against you?" (Byron) One can agree with Prof. Popov who states: "...the rhetorical question is equal to a categorical pronouncement plus an exclamation."1 Indeed, if we compare a pronouncement expressed as a statement with the same pronouncement expressed as a rhetorical question by means of transformational analysis, we will find ourselves compelled to assert that the interrogative form makes the pronouncement still more categorical, in that it excludes any interpretation beyond that contained in the rhetorical question. From the examples given above, we can see that rhetorical questions are generally structurally embodied in complex sentences with the subordinate clause containing the pronouncement. Here is another example: "...Shall the sons of Chimary Who never forgive the fault of a friend Bid an enemy- live?..." (Byron) Without the attributive clause the rhetorical question would lose its specific quality and might be regarded as an ordinary question. The subordinate clause, as it were, signalizes the rhetorical question. The meaning of the above utterance can hardly fail to be understood: i.e.. The sons of Chimary will never bid an enemy live. There is another structural pattern of rhetorical questions, which is based on negation. In this case the question may be a simple sentence, as in "Did not the Italian Mosico Cazzani Sing at my heart six months at least in vain?" (Byron) "Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?" (Byron)

Negative-interrogative sentences generally have a peculiar nature. There is always an additional shade of meaning implied in them: sometimes doubt, sometimes assertion, sometimes suggestion. In other words they are full of emotive meaning and modality. We have already stated that rhetorical questions may be looked upon as a transference of grammatical meaning. But just as in the case of the transference of lexical meaning the stylistic effect of the transference of grammatical meaning can only be achieved if there is a simultaneous realization of the two meanings: direct and transferred. So it is with rhetorical questions. Both the question meaning and the statement meaning are materialized with an emotional charge, the weight of which can be judged by the intonation of the speaker. The intonation of rhetorical questions, according to the most recent investigations, differs materially from the intonation of ordinary questions. This is also an additional indirect proof of the double nature of this stylistic device. The nature of the rhetorical question has not been fully studied and what structural peculiarities cause an ordinary question to turn into a rhetorical one is still to be discovered. In the question-sentence "Is the poor privilege to turn the key Upon the captive, freedom?' (Byron) instead of a categorical pronouncement one can detect doubt. It is the word 'poor' that prompts this interpretation of the utterance. A more detailed analysis of the semantic aspect of different questionsentences leads to the conclusion that these structural models have various functions. Not only ordinary questions, not only categorical pronouncements are expressed in question form. In fact there are various nuances of emotive meaning embodied in question-sentences. We have already given an example of one of these meanings, viz. doubt. In Shakespeare's "Who is here so vile that will not love his country?" there is a meaning of challenge openly and unequivocally declared. It is impossible to regard it as a rhetorical question making a categorical pronouncement. In the rhetorical question from Byron's maiden speech given above ('Is there not blood...') there is a clear implication of scorn and contempt for Parliament and the laws it passes. So rhetorical questions may also be defined as utterances in the form of questions which pronounce judgements and also express various kinds of modal shades of meaning as doubt, challenge, scorn and so on. It has been stated elsewhere that questions are more emotional than statements. When a question is repeated as in these lines from Poe's "The Raven:" "-Is there- is there balm in

Gilead?! Tell me- tell me- I implore!-" the degree of emotiveness increases and the particular shade of meaning (in this case, despair) becomes more apparent. The rhetorical question re-enforces this essential quality of interrogative sentences and uses it to convey a stronger shade of emotional meaning. Rhetorical questions, due to their power of expressing a variety of modal shades of meaning, are most often used in publicistic style and particularly in oratory, where the rousing of emotions is the effect generally aimed at. Litotes is a stylistic device consisting of a peculiar use of negative constructions. The negation plus noun or adjective serves to establish a positive feature in a person or thing. This positive feature, however, is somewhat diminished in quality as compared with a synonymous expression making a straightforward assertion of the positive feature. Let us compare the following two pairs of sentences: 1. It's not a bad thing - It's a good thing. _2. He is no coward He is a brave man. 'Not bad' is not equal to 'good' although the two constructions are synonymous. The same can be said about the second pair, 'no coward' and 'a brave man'. In both cases the negative construction is weaker than the affirmative one. Still we cannot say that the two negative constructions produce a lesser effect than the corresponding affirmative ones. Moreover, it should be noted that the negative constructions here have a stronger impact on the reader than the affirmative ones. The latter have no additional connotation; the former have. That is why such constructions are regarded as stylistic devices. Litotes is a deliberate understatement used to produce a stylistic effect. It is not a pure negation, but a negation that includes affirmation. Therefore here, as in the case of rhetorical questions, we may speak of transference of meaning, i.e., a device with the help of which two meanings are materialized simultaneously: the direct (negative) and transferred (affirmative). So the negation in litotes should not be regarded as a mere denial of the quality mentioned. The structural aspect of the negative combination backs up the semantic aspect: the negatives no and not are more emphatically pronounced than in ordinary negative sentences, thus bringing to mind the corresponding antonym. The stylistic effect of litotes depends mainly on intonation, on intonation only. If we compare two intonation patterns, one which suggests a mere denial (It is not bad as a contrary to It is bad) with the other which suggests the assertion of a positive quality of the object (It is not bad = it is good) the difference will become apparent. The degree to which litotes carries the

positive quality in itself can be estimated by analysing the semantic structure of the word which is negated. Let us examine the following sentences in which litotes is used: 1. "Whatever defects the tale possessed-and they were not a few - it had, as delivered by her, the one merit of seeming like truth." 2. "He was not without taste..." 3. "It troubled him not a little..." 4. "He found that this was no easy task." 5. "He was no gentle lamb, and the part of second fiddle would never do for the high-pitched dominance of his nature." (Jack London) 6. "Mr. Bardell was a man of honour - Mr. Bardell was a man of his word-Mr. Bardell was no deceiver..." (Dickens) 7. "She was wearing a fur coat... Carr, the enthusiastic appreciator of smart women and as good a judge of dress as any man to be met in a Pall Mall club, saw that she was no country cousin. She had style, or 'devil', as he preferred to call it." (Warwick Deeping) Even a superfluous analysis of the litotes in the above sentences clearly shows that the negation does not merely indicate the absence of the quality mentioned but suggests the presence of the opposite quality. Charles Bally, a well-known Swiss linguist, states that negative sentences are used with the purpose of "refusing to affirm." In sentences 5, 6 and 7 where it is explained by the context, litotes reveals its true function. The idea of 'no gentle lamb' is further strengthened by the 'high-pitched dominance of his nature', the litotes 'no deceiver' is clearer and more emphatic because of the preceding phrases 'a man of honour', 'a man of his word', and finally the function and meaning of 'no country cousin' is made clear by 'as good a judge of dress...', 'she had style...'. Thus like other stylistic devices litotes displays a simultaneous materialization of two meanings: one negative, the other affirmative. This interplay of two grammatical meanings is keenly felt, so much so indeed, that the affirmation suppresses the negation, the latter being only the form in which the real pronouncement is moulded. According to the science' of logic, negation as a category can hardly express a pronouncement. Only an assertion can do so. That is why we may say that any negation only suggests an assertion. Litotes is a means by which this natural logical and linguistic property of negation can be strengthened. The two senses of the litotic expression, negative and positive, serve a definite stylistic purpose. A variant of litotes is a construction with two negations, as in not unlike, rot unpromising, not displeased and the like. Here, according to general logical and mathematical principles, two negatives make a positive. Thus in the sentence "Soames, with his lips and his squared chin was not unlike a bull dog" (Galsworthy), the litotes may be interpreted as somewhat resembling. In spite of

the fact that such constructions make the assertion more logically apparent, they lack precision. They may truly be regarded as deliberate understatements, whereas the pattern structure of litotes, i.e. those that have only one negative are much more categorical in stating the positive quality of a person or thing. An interesting jest at the expense ot an English statesman who over-used the device of double negation was published in the Spectator. Here it is: "Anyway, as the pre-Whitsun dog-days barked themselves into silence, a good deal of pleasure could be obtained by a connoisseur who knew where to seek it. On Monday, for instance, from Mr. Selwyn Lloyd. His trick of seizing upon a phrase that has struck him (erroneously, as a rule) as a happy one, and doggedly sticking to it thereafter is one typical of a speaker who lacks all confidence. On Monday it was 'not unpromising'; three times he declared that various aspects of the Summit preparations were 'not unpromising', and I was moved in the end to conclude that Mr. Lloyd is a not unpoor Foreign Secretary, and that if he should not unshortly leave that office the not unbetter it would be for all of us, not unhim included." Litotes is used in different styles of speech, excluding those, which may be called the matter-of-fact styles, like official style and scientific prose. In poetry it is sometimes used to suggest that language fails to adequately convey the poet's feelings and therefore he uses negations to express the inexpressible. Shakespeare's Sonnet No. 130 is to some extent illustrative in this respect. Here all the hackneyed phrases used by the poet to depict his beloved are negated with the purpose of showing the superiority of the earthly qualities of "My mistress." The first line of this sonnet 'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun' is a clear-cut litotes although the object to which the eyes are compared is generally perceived as having only positive qualities. The analysis of the semantic structure of words that can be used in litotes is an interesting study, which still awaits investigators. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971, pp.248-253).

STYLISTICS AND GRAMMATICAL MORPHOLOGY. Each grammatical form possesses one or more categorial forms. A grammatical category consists of two or more categorical forms, one of which is marked. The marked member of the opposition is expressive, metasemiotically charged in comparison with the unmarked ones. Thus, the same categorial form may express

both a categorial and a metasemiotic meaning. The word in the given grammatical form may have a morphologic or syntactic meaning, or both, an additional inherent or adherent stylistic connotation of the given lexeme. Both the lexical and grammatical stylistic connotation may or may not be intensified by prosodic means. Quite a number of grammatical forms turn out to be metasemiotic, polysemantic, synonymous, homonymous and even antonymous. Thus, the category of mood in modern Romanian and English could be reinterpreted, because the present classifications are somewhat confusing. The difference in case of various moods is not only one of modality, it is also one of style. If we take the conjunctive (conjunctivul) in Romanian, we discover that it has a multitude of submeanings, (most of them being stylistically coloured) its grammatical form is polyfunctional and can correspond to the English indicative, subjunctive I, subjunctive II, suppositional, infinitive in both perfect and non-perfect forms: 1) Subjunctive I (Old Subjunctive): Long live democracy! (S) traiasc democraia! I insist that he come. Eu insist ca el s vin. It is necessary that he be (come) here in time. E necesar ca el s fie (vin) aici la timp. 2) Subjunctive II: If I were you. S fiu (=dac a fi) n locul dumitale... If I had had time yesterday... S fi avut (=dac a fi avut/dac aveam) timp ieri... I wish I had lived then. A dori (doresc) s fi trit atunci. 3) Regularly substituting the infinitive in Romanian: They promised to take him home. Ei au promis s-l duc acas. He must have come in time. El trebuie s fi venit la timp. Even a child could understand, i un copil putea s neleag. To believe me capable of something like that! S m cread capabil de aa ceva! 4) Future tense: What shall I do? Ce s fac? He will come in time. El are s vin la timp; 5) To express supposition, including the meanings of suppositional mood: (supposition, necessity, order, command, insistence ). Might he have been here? S fi fost el aici?; He mIght have been there. El ar fi putut s fie acolo. Have I lost it on my way home? S-l fi pierdut n drum spre cas? I insist (order) that he should be prezent. Eu insist (ordon) ca el s fie prezent. It is necessary that he should be here. E necesar ca el s fie aici. 6.Present indefinite indicative mood: Dont you worry, mother! S nu te neliniteti, mam! Do not doubt! S nu te ndoieti! Let's sit and talk. S edem i s vorbim. There is no doubt that conjunctivul cannot be considered a grammatical form expressing one categorial mood form. It can be used in different moods and functions, stylistically

neutral or, in most cases, stylistically coloured (especially in the oblique moods). Most surprising is the fact that condiionalul and optativul may be expressed in Romanian by several stylistically different grammatical forms, which are polyfunctional and formally belong to three moods: "If I had had time I (should) would have come to help you yesterday" - Dac aveam timp, veneam s te ajut ieri; (imperfectul modal in both cases is stylistically coloured); Dac a fi avut timp a fi venit s te ajut ieri; (optative or subjunctuive II, and conditional); S fi avut timp a fi venit (or veneam) s te ajut ieri (conjunctivul in the secondary clause). Had had time here may expresses an anterior unreal action in the future, past and to a present moment and is different from a similar form used in the indicative mood used to express anteriority in the past and future in the past (in clauses of time and condition). Past conditional (perfect form) has several homonymous forms: suppositional mood (in the first person), future perfect in the past indicative mood, the modals should and would plus perfect infinitive. Thus, for example: He would have come, but he had no time; I should have read the book but I could not find it; I should have come earlier; He propmised that he would have come before the beginning of the meeting. The non-perfect forms can also possess homonymous and synonymous forms stylistically charged: 1) Present subjunctive II in English is homonynous to the forms of past indefinite and past continuous indicative mood: I wish I were in London now A dori s fiu n Londra acum/ De a fi n Londra acum; If I were walking in the park now I should enjoy it Dac ma plimba n parc acum mi-ar face plcere. 2) Conditional mood (non-perfect forms) is identical to the non-perfect forms of future in the past, suppositional, and modal verbs should and would plus the non-perfect infinitive. Comparing the sentences in the indicative and the oblique moods we come to the conclusion that the latter possess a clear-cut stylistic connotation. Thus, for example the sentences I am not at home now. I want to be at home now are less expressive than I wish I were at home now. If I were at home now. There is a very interesting observation concerning the polyfunctionality of the Romanian (usually called reflexive) particle se and the Russian flexion -, which have both turned out to express not only reflexive meanings. They are also used to express passive continuous actions in colloquial Russian and Romanian. Thus, regular confrontation of examples allows us to conclude that the English continuous forms are regularly translated by means of verbs with the particle se

in Romanian and flexion -, in Russian, the reflexive particle and flexion are usually used to express a reflexive action but in this case they are used homonymously to express unfinished (continuous or durative) actions in the passive voice possessing a considerable stylistic expressivity. Let's take some examples: The house is being built now, The house was being built when we arrived there, The house will be built this time next year Casa se construiete acum (Casa este construit acum), Casa se construia (era construit) cnd am sosit acolo, Casa se va construi (va fi construit) pe timpul acesta anul viitor - . , , . The reflexive particle and flexion here is completely synonymous with the meanings of passive voice of imperfective (durative) actions. In the English literary language there is no continuous aspect in the passive voice in the future, because both categorial forms are used with the verb to be and it is not acceptable in the literary English to say: The house will be being built, which can be found only in dialects. Both in Romanian and Russian future continuity is expressed: se va construi, . Va fi construit usually represents a perfective action. We should mention here that the above mentioned particle -se and the flexion - in the reflexive meaning are used lexicogrammatically, while in the passive continuous (imperfective) they become purely grammatical forms and possess stylistic expressivity. The English reflexive pronouns have developed homonymous stylistically emphatic forms like in the examples: I saw him myself; They did the work themselves. Metasemiotic transposition is found in both English and Romanian. Thus, the Romanian prezumptivul expresses supposition, doubt, probability (all these modal meanings are stylistically marked) and this categorial form can be expressed by such forms like: simple future, future continuous, future perfect, conditional, optative and conjunctive In both continuous and non-continuous forms. In fact here we have a whole system of progressive forms that are part of the category of aspect in Romanian, though practically very rarely used in direct moods, they are more often used in the oblique moods with a metasemiotic connotation. Here we often have a case of metasemiotic transpostion like in the English language, where aspect can be metasemiotically used not in its usual way, but in a way that will provide additional overtones: expressive, evaluative, emotional, modal, etc. For example: "He is leaving tomorrow". "Are you coming on

Sunday?" In these two forms the aspectual and tense categorial meanings are used to express a stylistic connotation, the future action being expressed purely lexically (tomorrow, on Sunday). In the case of Romanian prezumptivul we have almost a complete metasemiotic transposition of future continuous and future perfect (both forms are extremely rarely used to express future actions in the indicative) into a relatively new mood "prezumptivul". Partially transposed are the forms of simple future, conjunctive continuous and non-continuous, conditional and optative continuous and non-continuous. The category of aspect in the English language is in a process of transition from a grammatical to a stylistic category. In most cases it is used expressively or even completely transposed. In the examples: a) I looked out of the window. A man was standing at the door. b) I looked out of the window. A man stood at the door. Both actions in English express an imperfective ( durative or progressive) action. The difference between them is a stylistic one. Was standing expresses a durative action both lexically and grammatically and by combining them we achieve a stylistic effect. This form is more expressive and emotional. The categorial forms of present tense can serve as an example of metasemiotic transposistion. In various manuals we usually find an explanation that the present tense can be used to express past and future actions. What we really have is the metasemiotic or stylistic use of present tense forms to describe a past or future action, for certain emotional-expressive or evaluative purposes, to express vivacity and dynamism of the action, as if deployed in the speaker's mind at the moment of speech. In this case the categorial forms of past and future are expressed purely lexically or contextually. Thus, for example: "Yesterday I was reading in the lounge. Suddenly Ann comes in, sits on the sofa and starts to cry". Next week I am leaving (leave) for Paris. The verbs expressing mental perception and feeling can be metasemiotically used in the continuous aspect; the same is true in the case of the usage of progressive forms with words always, often, seldom, generally, constantly, permanently, etc. As a case of metasemiotic or stylistic transposition can serve the use of conditional mood forms to express: a) an unreal action the fulfillment of which depends on an unreal condition; b) an action, which is not contrary to reality and expressing politeness, interest, indirect request, etc. For example: I should eat an apple if I had any. (unreal condition); Look! You have apples! I should eat one! (indirect polite

request); Could I help You? Could you help me? Ai putea s m ajutai? (polite request). The category of negation/affirmation usually influences the realization of a categorial form. Thus, the continuous aspect used in the negative forms may be considered as a failure to realize the marked aspectual meaning. Lets take some examples: I was working in the garden/I was not working in the garden; I was reading a book/I was not reading a book The stylistically charged positive forms indicate that the actions (I was working; I was reading; are being carried out at the moment. The negative forms, on the other hand, stress the fact that the given actions are not being carried out. In fact the continuous aspect is realized in both cases and thus, both forms possess a stylistic connotation. In the negative forms we stress the fact, that we were not working in the garden or reading a book, but we were doing something else, for example: I was not working in the garden, I was walking in the garden, I was not reading a book, I was writing a letter. In both cases there is an aspectual expressive meaning of actions developing in time at the given moment. But we can find quite a different relation between various categorial forms in what the category of negation/affirmation is concerned. Thus, for example, in the category of mood, negation in a categorial form is opposed to a positive form in another one, in both cases the same lexical information is practically expressed the difference again is one of style and modality. For instance: If you had come (had you come) yesterday you would have met him/ You did not come yesterday and you did not meet him; If you had not come (hadnt you come) yesterday you would not have met him/You came yesterday and you met him /Ai venit ieri i l-ai vzut pe dnsul); I wish I had time now/A pity I dont have time now. In each opposition of sentences expressing real/unreal actions (indicative/subjunctive II, conditional) we have the same lexical meaning, the difference is detected on the metasemiotic level, the oblique moods expressing a stylistically coloured meaning of modality in relation to the indicative neutral modality. Of considerable importance is the phenomenon of transition of grammatical categories into lexical-grammatical or lexical ones and simplification of redundant forms. The category of gender in English and the category of anteriority (taxis) in Russian can serve as an example of a complete transition. Taxis in English (like in many European languages) is in the process of a similar transition. Perfect forms in

modern English and Romanian are variously interpreted, as expressing anteriority, a complete action, a result, as a tense form, time relation. But more and more linguists consider anteriority to be the main categorlal meaning of finite and nonfinite perfect forms. This difference is most clearly observed when we compare the perfect future with the usual past indefinite, as in for example: "He will have finished reading the book by 10 o'clock and "He finished to read the book. The meaning of past is clearly expressed in both cases, but in the former the past is referred to a certain moment, which is conceived with respect to future, while with past indefinite it is simply the relationship between the action and the moment of speaking. Thus, anteriority or perfectivity is the meaning of an action, which precedes another action or moment on the time axis. It should be mentioned here that the means of expressing future anteriority in both languages slightly differ. In both languages future anteriority is expressed here both grammatically and lexically. When both the means are expressed we can speak of an emphatic use of anteriority. The use of grammatical anteriority (perfect) forms is used by some writers as a stylistic means of describing conservative or pedantic persons. This can be seen in A. Christies works, where the use of future perfect forms is purely stylistic. In this connection we should pay attention to the phenomenon of hypergrammaticality (or hypercorrectness) or abuse of grammar while analysing the English language or confronting grammatical systems of different languages. Abuse of grammar may be of two kinds: a) The speaker turns to some very complex and artificial complex structures, because he thinks that they are more literary and will enable him to appear as a highly educated man. This is a kind of stylistically coloured hypergrammaticality, which we meet specially frequently in documents and in some varieties of journalese, etc. b) The formation of complex artificial grammatical forms and structures may depend on metasemiotic factors, on a desire to achieve a specific stylistic effect. The results of scientific abstraction must be verified by the actual functioning of the system, the researcher always bearing in mind that language is in a state of constant change. This is especially important when we confront related and unrelated languages. The study of grammar, the attempts to normalize grammatical usage, the study of the new tendencies and systematic confrontation of these with those falling into disuse, requires a much more serious scientific generalization on the subject than has been done so far. We should keep in mind that categories come first as primary entities. Talking about categories we always have to take into

consideration the fact that the reality of human communication is primary, the most important element. We can speak of a lexical category only if we find identity of stem and the utter impossibility of a simultaneous realization of all categorial forms of the given opposition. Otherwise stated, in actual enunciations or utterances only one of the two or more categorial forms can be realized. We should also mention the fact that morphological studies should be initiated with the marked member of any opposition. Thus, in case of the category of taxis we should start with the perfect forms. The morphological-grammatical forms can be studied on two levels 1) the semantic level, where, for example, the present tense forms express actions which include the moment of speaking, and 2) the metasemiotic level, where present tense forms are used to denote an action which clearly does not include the moment of speaking. The process of transition of some grammatical categories into lexical ones is being observed in the confronted languages. As a good example of hypergrammaticality we can take the future perfect forms in English, and Romanian. When we investigate the material we still come across examples of Future perfect in all the confronted languages. Thus, for example: future perfect viitorul anterior: 1. Youll arrive next day after we shall have prepared the way. Voi vei ajunge a doua zi, dup ce noi vom fi pregtit calea. 2.You will have refused once again. Vei fi refuzat nc o dat. In all these examples we have complete coincidence. But we should always remember the fact that grammatical future anteriority is getting out of usage. In English and Romanian. The future perfect forms here posses a stylistic colouring in comparison with simple future. In order to verify the tendency in Modern English to substitute perfect forms in the spoken language by using simple forms a number of examples were taken and given to students to be translated from Russian into Romanian. The majority of examples had lexical or contextual markers of anteriority. Most of the students translated the examples using simple non-perfect future forms: ; Spre sfritul anului noi vom studia multe cuvinte i expresii noi; ; Noi vom termina lucrul acesta spre sfrit de sptmn; ; Noi vom termina manualul acesta spre sfrit de an; ; Ea va uita totul pn atunci; , ; El va scrie acest articol nainte de a pleca. The Romanian and Russian equivalents were given to a different group of students to translate them into English. Those students, who

were not familiar with the fact that future perfect is rarely used in Modern English, regularly used grammatical perfect forms in nearly all the given examples: We shall have learned many new words and expressions by the end of the year; We shall have finished this work by the end of the week; She will have forgotten everything by that time; We shall have finished this text-book by the end of the year; He will have written this article before he leaves. The English native speakers usually prefer simple non-perfect forms in the given situations. In a third group the students were asked to translate the above given English examples with future perfect into Romanian. Here we had two subgroups. In the first subgroup the teacher stressed the fact that similar forms exist in Romanian as well (viitorul anterior). A number of students did not hesitate to use grammatical future anteriority in Romanian (in spite of the fact that it is very rarely used): Spre sfritul anului noi vom fi studiat multe cuvinte i expresii noi. Noi vom fi terminat lucrul acesta spre sfrit de sptmn. Ea va fi uitat totul pn atunci. Noi vom fi terminat acest manual spre sfrit de an. El va fi scris articolul acesta nainte de a pleca. In the second subgroup nothing was said about viitorul anterior. Here the students in the majority of cases used simple grammatical future forms, substituting grammatical anteriority with the lexical one. In the history of separate languages the borderline between past tense and those formations which are similar in their grammatical meaning to the present (and perfect in some languages) was not only shifted in the course of time, but even tended to be obliterated or effaced altogether. Thus, in the Germanic languages the old perfect was confounded with the aorist, and thus acquired the meaning of past. In Russian the Old Slavonic analytical perfect had ousted the old imperfect aorist, the French pass simple and the Romanian perfectul simplu lost their perfect meaning and now express a simple past action. (The French pass simple and the Romanian perfectul simplu are stylistically limited and different from the English past indefinite). These forms were replaced by analytical perfects (pass compos and perfectul compus), which in their turn now are losing their anteriority meanings. There is now a general tendency for the perfect forms to be replaced by non-perfect ones, especially in the spoken language. Thus, in English, we can also observe a rapprochement of present perfect and past indefinite, especially in the American English, where the process is more advanced. In this connection we can conclude that the perfect/non-perfect opposition (especially present perfect/past indefinite in English, pass compos/ pass simple in French and perfectul

compus/ perfectul simplu in Romanian) is developing in a direction where there is a transition of a grammatical category in a stylistic one, i.e. a new category is raising its head, the category of stylistics. Thus, in Romanian perfectul simplu is very rarely used in the spoken language, where it is completely replaced by perfectul compus. Perfectul simplu is used in fiction literature and is never used in scientific literature. (Perfectul compus is also used now to substitute in colloqvial speech the Romanian pluscvamperfectul and sometimes even imperfectul). Thus, this grammatical opposition is gradually coming to express something different, a metasemiotic or stylistic opposition. Perfectul compus in Romanian can be used to express future anteriority only in case of stylistic (metasemiotic) transposition, to show that the action in the future as if has practically been carried out, there should be no doubt about it being carried out in time. For example, "As soon as I have read the book I shall return it to the library. In Romanian, in this case, we can have three variants: 1) Cum numai voi fi citit cartea voi intoarce-o (am s-o intorc, voi ntoarce-o) la bibliotec (future perfect rarely used); 2) Cum numai am citit cartea voi ntoarce-o (am s o intorc) la bibliotec (in both clauses perfectul compus and simple present are used stylistically). But in neutral situations simple future is used in both clauses: Cum numai voi citi cartea voi intoarce-o la bibliotec. Speaking of past perfect form we should mention that it can express the following meanings in English: 1) In the indicative mood: a) past anteriority (an action anterior to another action or moment in the past): When I came home he had (already) gone. b) future anteriority in the past: He promised to return the book as soon as he had read it. 2) Unreal optative meaning, or condition, or both in the past subjunctive II express a stylistically coloured modality. In this case the form of past perfect is not limited to anterior actions in the past or anterior actions in the future from a moment in the past (in clauses of time and condition). It is used to express any anterior action to the moment of speech in the past, present or future. Let us adduce some examples: He said she had come in time (past perfect indicative); He said he would have come earlier if he had known (subjunctive II, anteriority to a past action); If she had come in time yesterday you would have seen her (subjunctive II, anteriority to the present moment of speech); I knew he would say that he would have come if he had known (subjunctive II, future anteriority in the past); She thinks he will say that he would have come if he had known (subjunctive II, future anteriority from the present moment). The Modern

English present perfect represents a stylistically marked member of the opposition in comparison with simple past actions, which are not connected with the present moment. In American spoken English there is a tendency of rapprochment of present perfect in the second meaning and past indefinite and the former is often substituted by the latter: Did you ever go to Paris? Did he arrive yet? He never read this book. Anteriority in this case is expressed lexically and these forms stylistically are still different from such examples as: Did you go to Paris last year? Did he arrive in time yesterday? He did not read this book when he was at school. In the British Standard English present perfect differs regularly from past indefinite in all the meanings. There is a tendency of regulation and simplification of categorial and redundant grammatical forms. Thus, the grammatical anteriority can be regarded as a pedanticism, for in situations of ordinary everyday speech it is very easy to do without it, and express the same categorial meaning lexically or contextually. There is a clear-cut tendency of transition of some grammatical categories to stylistic, lexical-grammatical or lexical ones. The category of comparison has historically changed. The reduction of the morphological paradigm in English led to the obliteration of the grammatical categories of gender, number and case. The marked and unmarked categorial forms of positive, comparative and superlative degrees are expressed in English synthetically, analytically and suppletively. Historically the synthetic forms were used in Old English and the analytical ones appeared as a system in the Middle English, when the periphrastic comparative forms, only occasionally used in Old English, began to be substituted (under French influence) by analytical forms with ma, mo. mare, more, mast, most, which were used both with English and French adjectives, with monosyllables and disyllables, as well as with polysyllables. The preference of these over synthetic forms is in some cases stylistic. The category of comparison consists of three categorical forms: the positive or unmarked form (stylistically neutral) and the marked forms comparative and superlative grammatical forms, which correspondingly possess a certain metasemiotic connotation, even in cases of adjectives without an inherent stylistic connotation. Usually grammar books say that qualitative adjectives can form the degrees of comparison and the relative ones do not. This is not always the case. Thus: adjectives with the suffix ish (reddish), with a negative meaning (like impossible), a number of adjectives possessing an inherent stylistic connotation,

which mainly belong to a superlative meaning (exclusive, absolute, extreme, principal, chief, unique, superior, inferior, complete, etc.) But even these adjective can be used with intensifiers to express a certain inequality: far superior, much more superior, very much superior, less superior, much less superior, least superior. Even those adjectives that do not form the degrees of comparison, belong to the positive degree and can in some cases be used for stylistic purposes to form a comparative degree: You cannot be deader than dead. He was the deadest of them all. You are not less dead than he is. In some cases relative adjectives acquire an additional connotation and can form the degrees of comparison: The life there had been more English than in England. (Aldridge) John is more English than the English. John is very English. (Swan) He is English to the backbone. He has very little English in him and you have even less. In all these examples we really detect a difference or variation of quality and style within the same adjective. Qualitative adjectives express various qualities within the same adjective defining a certain object or phenomenon. Thus, varying and static quality could be considered as an opposition. In this respect we should mention Blokhs division of adjectives into evaluative and specific (See A Course in Theoretical English Grammar). One and the same adjective can be used either in the evaluative or in the specificative function. As an example he gives the adjective good, which is basically qualitative (good-better-the best), but when used as part of a marking scale together with the grading terms bad, satisfactory, excellent it acquires a static or specificative function. On the other hand, the whole grading system here (bad-satisfactory-good-excellent) could be considered as a paradigm of lexical degrees of comparison. All the adjectives, which can form degrees of comparison either lexically or grammatically (the synthetic forms) can vary their quality or be evaluative (i.e. stylistically coloured). There are quite a number of idioms (all them possess an inherent stylistic connotation), where the comparative of equality is used (though in many cases the meaning of superlative is implied): as busy as a bee (very busy) harnic ca albina (foarte harnic) In such cases we observe a combination of stylistic connotations of lexical units and their grammatical categorical meanings The comparative degree of superiority shows that the object or phenomenon has a higher degree of quality in comparison with those, which are compared. Intensifiers are often used to increase the variation on the comparative degree level and produce a stronger stylistic effect: This is

much better; This is much more better; This is far better; This is better by far; This is considerably better. The performance became more and more thrilling; The water was deeper and deeper (repetitions). Ever greater success have been achieved. The more leasure he has, the happier he is. Very often the usual intensifiers are further intensified by other contextual lexical means: nimic n lume = nothing in the world. Very often the second element of the comparison of superiority or inferiority is omitted because of contextual redundancy: A more difficult and dangerous task remained. You wont find better examples. The girl was getting more and more beautiful. The superlative degree establishes that an object or phenomenon possesses a quality and stylistic connotation in the intensifiers are often used to increase the stylistic meaning: You are a very good child You are an extremely good child You are a very good child indeed You look too good. Addy and Ellie look beautiful enough to please the most fastidious man. (Shaw) He said of him that he was too serious. (Dreiser) Be quick or it may be too late. (Dickens) He is awfully nice. She is extraordinarily (extremely, terribly, etc.) clever. Thus, most of the intensifiers are not only used to intensify the degree of variation of the equality but they are also used metasemiotically, to produce a stylistic effect. In this case grammatical and especially the lexical means are widely supported by prosodic means: Oh, she is glorious! In addition to the lexical superlative expressed by glorious the prosodic elements that should be used here considerably intensify the degree of absolute superlative both semiotically and metasemiotically: the adjective glorious is pronounced in a loud voice (increased loudness), slowed down tempo, wide range, high falling tone all these prosodic elements are characteristic of highly emotional, emphatic speech. There are quite a number of adjectives with inherent stylistic connotations, which become absolute superlatives by using such lexical means like: a) affixes: -less, ultra-, super-, over-, etc. matchless, peerless, oversensitive, overgreedy, overgenerous, overbusy, overambitious, overactive, superfine, supereminent, superabundant, ultrashort, ultramodern, etc.; b) analytical genitives: A mountain of a man a very tall man. A devil of a child a very naughty child. A monster of a dog a monstruous dog. A mountain of happiness extremely happy, etc. c) Some other combinations: beyond belief, without compare (equal) -too good (great) to be compared to anybody else). d) repetitions: A red, red rose! e) hyperboles: scared to death = very frightened; immensely obliged =

very much obliged; full to the brim quite full; g) Simile: (as) black as coal = quite black; (as) dry as a bone = very dry; h) metaphor: blowing hot and cold = very hesitating; he is a fox = he is very sly; i) litotes: no coward = very brave. Practically all these means, which help express an absolute superlative are metasemiotically charged and posses inherent stylistic connotations. Sometimes the article may be omitted for the sake of expressivity and is emotionally coloured, intensified here by prosody: Oh, most faithful of friends! When a noun is defined by a number of superlatives the definite noun may be repeated only in case of emphasis: He is the cleverest, sweetest and most affectionate of children. He is the cleverest, the sweetest and the most affectionate of children (emphasized). Most intensifiers, including double superlative, are used for the sake of intensification or to produce a stylistic effect, or both, belong to colloquial or dialectal style. Thus, such forms as most noblest was accepted in Shakespeares times, but now it is not acceptable in the literary language. But other intensifying elements are found quite often: I hope you will have the finest weather possible. I have read the worst novel imaginable. It is by far the most interesting play I have ever seen. They are the very best friends. Practically all the grammatical and lexical grammatical categories there exist means to create a stylistic effect. Thus, in the case of the category of deixis, the absence of definite and indefinite deictic means does not mean that the category of general deictic identification is being realised. In most cases the markers are dropped for the sake of economy of space, for brevity (newspaper headlines, dictionary articles, etc.), in metasemiotic usage, especially in colloquial speech, where the speaker can drop the articles to attract attention, to make it more expressive. The expressive, evaluative stylistic overtones found in many grammatical categorial forms is as a rule intensified by the use of prosody and lexical means with inherent and adherent stylistic connotations. (See Dumitru Melenciuc. Comparatvistics. Moldova State University 2003).

Practical Exercises. (1) Inversion Exercise I. Analyse the following cases of complete and partial inversion. State the difference between inversion in interrogative and affirmative sentences. 1. Out

came the chaise - in went the horses - on sprung the boys - in got the travellers. 2. Up came the file and down sat the editor, with Mr. Pickwick at his side. 3. Women are not made for attack. Wait they must. 4. And she saw that Gopher Prairie was merely an enlargement of all the hamlets, which they had been passing. Only to the eyes of a Kennicott was it exceptional. 5. . . .Calm and quiet below me in the sun and shade; lay the old house. 6. "Benny Gollan, a respected guy, Benny Gollan wants to marry her." "An agent could ask for more?" 7. Then he said: "You think it's so? She was mixed up in this lousy business?" 8. "Her sickness is only grief?" he asked, his difficult English lending the question an unintended irony. "She is grieving only?" . . . "She is only grieving?" insisted Jose. 9. How have I implored and begged that man to inquire into Captain's family connections; how have I urged and entreated him to take some decisive step. 10. Gay and merry was the time; and right gay and merry were at least four of the numerous hearts that were gladdened by its coming. (2) Rhetorical Question Exercise 1. Discuss the nature and functions of the following rhetorical questions. 1. Gentleness in passion! What could have been more seductive to the scared, starved heart of that girl? 2. Why do we need refreshment, my friends? Because we are but mortal, because we are but sinful, because we are but of the earth, because we are not of the air? Can we fly, my friends? We cannot. Why can we not fly? Is it because we are calculated to walk? 3. What courage can withstand the everduring and all besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? 4. But what words shall describe the Mississippi, great father of rivers, who (praise be to Heaven) has no young children like him? 5. Dark Sappho1 could not verse immortal save, That breast imbued with such immortal fire? Could she not live who life eternal gave? 6. How should a highborn lady be known from a sunburnt milk-maid, save that spears are broken for the one, and only hazelpoles shattered for the other? 7. . . .but who would scorn .the month of June, Because December, with his breath so hoary, Must come? 8. Who will be open where there is no sympathy, or has call to speak to those who never can understand? 9. Wouldn't we all do better not trying to understand, accepting the fact that no human being will ever understand another, not a wife a husband, a lover a mistress, nor a parent a child? (3) Apokoinu Construction Exercise I. Indicate the type of complex sentences contracted into the following apokoinu constructions. Suggest conjunctions and connecting words, which might

have joined former clauses.1. I'm the first one saw her. 2. It was I was a father to you. 3. He's the one makes the noise at night. 4. He would show these bums who it was kept them fed. 5. It was Sponge told Bruce who was in the car. 6. I didn't transfer. I was transferred. It was Houston did it because I spoke my piece. 7. There's no one enjoys good food more than he does. 8. You'd be surprised at the times we do get our man- sometimes after several years. It's patience does itpatience and never letting up. 9. It was then he took the plunge. 10. I love Nevada. Why, they don't even have mealtimes here. I never met so many people didn't own a watch. 11. There was a door led into the kitchen. 12. There was no breeze came through the door. 13. Everyone found him attractive. It was his temper let him down. 14. It was then he met Stella. 15. There was a whisper in my family that it was love drove him out, and not love of the wife he married. (4) Ellipsis and One-Member Sentences Exercise I. Discuss the nature of the following elliptical and one-member sentences. 1. Fast asleep-no passion in the face, no avarice, no anxiety, no wild desire; all gentle, tranquil, and at peace. 2. "I'll go, Doll! I'll go!" This from Bead, large eyes larger than usual behind his horn-rimmed glasses. 3. . . .the girl was washing the glasses. The establishment boasted four; we do not record the circumstance as at all derogatory to Mrs. Raddle . . . 4. There was only a little round window at the Bitter Orange Company. No waiting-room-nobody at all except a girl, who came to the window when Miss Moss knocked, and said: "Well?" 5. Pain and discomfort--that was all the future held. And meanwhile ugliness, sickness, fatigue. 6. A poor boy ... No father, no mother, no any one. 7. I'm afraid you think I'm conservative. I am. So much tp conserve. All this treasure of American ideals. Sturdiness and democracy and opportunity. Maybe not at Palm Beach. But, thank heaven, we're free from such social distinctions in Gopher Prairie. 8. Not that I give a hoot about jewelry. Diamonds, yes. But it's tacky to wear diamonds before you're forty; and even that's risky. They only look right on the really old girls. Maria Ouspenskaya. Wrinkles and bones, white hair and diamonds. 9. Inspector Badgworthy in his office. Time, 8.30 a.m. A tall portly man. Inspector Badgworthy, with a heavy regulation tread. Inclined to breathe hard in moments of professional strain. In attendance Constable Johnson, very new to the Force, with a downy unfledged look about him, like a human chicken. 10. We have never been readers in our family. It'don't pay. Stuff. Idleness. Folly. No, no! 11. A black February day. Clouds hewn of ponderous timber weighing down on

the earth; an irresolute dropping of snow specks upon 'the trampled wastes. Gloom but no veiling of angularity. The lines of roofs and sidewalks sharp and inescapable. The second day of Kennicott's absence . . 12. A dark gentleman ... A very bad manner. In the last degree constrained, reserved, diffident, troubled. 13. And we got down at the bridge. White cloudy sky, with mother-of-pearl veins. Pearl rays shooting through, green and blue-white. River roughed by a breeze. White as a new file in the distance. Fishwhite streak on the smooth pin-silver upstream. Shooting new pins. 14. "What sort of a place is Dufton exactly?" "A lot of mills. And a chemical factory. And a Grammar school and a memorial and a river that runs different colours each day. And a cinema and fourteen pubs. That's' really all one can say about it." 15. "Good-night. Mr. Povey. I hope you'll be able to sleep." Constance's voice! "It will probably come on again." Mr. Povey's voice pessimistic! Then the shutting of doors. It was almost dark, 16. "Them big-assed folks is dumb!" Emphatic judgement. "Dumb ain't no word for 'em! They just like us, but they too damned mean to admit it!" Hilarious agreement. "They scared to death of us. They know if they give us' half a chance, we'd beat 'em!" Uttered with sage confidence ... "Fish, you so quiet and wise." A memorized smile. "I didn't want to mess up my plans with no trouble with white folks." A spontaneous lie ... "Gee, Fish, you lucky." Crooned admiration. "Aw, that's nothing." Hinting at undisclosed marvels. Exercise II. State the functions of the following ellipses. Indicate most frequently omitted members of the sentence. 1. And if his feelings about the war got known, he'd be nicely in the soup. Arrested, perhaps-got rid of, somehow. 2. He is understood to be in want of witnesses, for the Inquest tomorrow ... Is immediately referred to innumerable people who can tell nothing whatever. Is made more imbecile by being constantly informed that Mrs. Green's son "was a law-writer hisself. . ." 3. What happiness was ours that day, what joy, what rest, what hope, what gratitude, what bliss! 4. "I have noticed something about it in the papers. Heard you mention it once or twice, now I come to think of it." 5. "Very windy, isn't it?" said Strachan, when the silence had lasted some time. "Very," said Wimsey. "But it's not raining," pursued Strachan. "Not yet," said Wimsey. "Better than yesterday," said Strachan . . . "Tons better. Really you know, you'd think they'd turned on the water-works yesterday on purpose to spoil my sketching party." "Oh, well," said Strachan. "How long have you been on that?" "About an hour," said Strachan. 6. "Where mama?" "She home," his father breathed. 7. "What

you think, Fish?" Zeke asked with an aloof smile. "Zeke, you a dog and I kind of believe you," Fishbelly said. 8. "She one of you family or something?" "Who, the one downstairs? No, she's called Mrs. Da-vies." 9. "Our father is dead." "I know." "How the hell do you know?" "Station agent told me. How long ago did he die?" '"Bout a month." "What of?" "Pneumonia." "Buried here?" "No. In Washington. . ." (5) Detachment Exercise I. Classify the following isolated members according to their syntactical function. Discuss the punctuation used to isolate the detached members and their distribution in the sentence. 1. Each of them carried a notebook, in which whenever the great man spoke, he desperately scribbled. Straight from .the horse's mouth. 2. She narrowed her eyes a trifle at me and &aid I looked exactly like Celia Briganza's boy. Around the mouth; 3. And life would move slowly and excitingly. With much laughter and much shouting and talking and much drinking and much fighting. 4. "How do you like the Army?" Mrs. Silsburn asked. Abruptly, conversationally. 5. He is alert to his fingertips. Little muffs, silver garters, fringed gloves draw his attention; he observes with a keen quick glance, not unkindly, and full rather of amusement than of censure. 6. Despiere had been nearly killed, ingloriously, in a jeep accident. 7. A hawk, serene, flows in the narrowing circles above. 8. The people are awful this year. You should see what sits next to us in the dining room. At the next table. They look as if they drove down in a truck. (S.) 9. I have to beg you for money. Daily! 10. And he stirred it with his pen-in vain. 11. And Fleur-- charming in her jade-green wrapper- tucked a corner of her lip behind a tooth, and went back to her room to finish dressing. (6) Aposiopesis Exercise I. Comment on the syntactical distribution of the following cases of aposiopesis and on the causes, which necessitated them. Suggest the implied meaning of trite aposiopesis. 1. He would have to stay. Whatever might happen, that was the only possible way to salvation-to stay, to trust Emily, to make himself believe that with the help of the children. . . 2. Paritt: Well, they'll get a chance now to show-hastily) I don't mean-But let's forget that. 3. "She must leave-or-or, better yet-maybe drown herself-make away with herself in some way-or-" 4. "Shuttleworth, I-I want to speak to you in-in strictest confidence-to ask your advice. Yet-yet it is upon such a serious matter that I hesitate-fearing-" 5. Paritt: I told her, "You've always acted the free woman., you've never let any thing stop you from-" (He checks himself-goes on hurriedly.) That made her sore. 6. And it was so

unlikely that any one would trouble to look there-until-until-well. 7. "It is the moment one opens one's eyes that is horrible at sea. These days! Oh, these days! I wonder how anybody can . . ." 8. What about the gold bracelet she'd been wearing that afternoon, the bracelet he'd never seen before and which she'd slipped off her wrist the moment she realized he was in the room? Had Steve given her that? And if he had. . . 9. Oh, that's what you are doing. Well, I never, 10. "6ut, John, you know I'm not going to a doctor. I've told you." "You're going-or else." 11.. . .shouting out that he'd come back that his mother had better have the money ready for him. Or else! That is what he said: "Or else!" It was a threat. 12. "I still don't quite like the face, it's just a trifle too full, but-" I swung myself on the stool. 13. "So you won't come at all?!" "I don't yet know. It all depends." (P.) 14. "Will you ever change your mind?" "It depends, you know." (7) Suspense Exercise I. Analyse the manner in which the following cases of suspense are organized. 1. All this Mrs. Snagsby, as an injured woman and the friend of Mrs. Chadband, and the follower of Mr. Chad-band, and the mourner of the late Mr. Tulkinghorn, is here to certify. 2. I have been accused of bad taste. This has disturbed me, not so much for my own sake (since I am used to the slights and arrows of outrageous fortune) as for the sake of criticism in general. 3. No one seemed to take proper pride in his work: from plumbers who were simply thieves to, say, newspapermen (he seemed to think them a specially intellectual class) who never by any chance gave a correct version of the simplest affair. 4. ". . .The day on which I take the happiest and best step of my life-the day on which I shall be a man more exulting and more enviable than any other man in the world-the day on which I give Bleak House its little mistress-shall be next month, then," said my guardian. 5. "If you had any part-1 don't say what-in this attack," pursued the boy, "or if you know anything about it-I don't say how much-or if you know who did it-I go no closer-you did an injury to me that's never to be forgiven." 6. Corruption could not spread with so much success, though reduced into a system? and though some ministers, with equal impudence and folly, avowed it by themselves and their advocates, to be the principal expedient by which they governed. (8) Repetition Exercise I. Classify the following cases of repetition according to the position occupied by the repeated unit. State their functions. 1. Heroes all. Natural leaders. Morrows always been leaders, always been gentlemen. Oh, take a drink once in a

while but always like Morrows. Always know how to make heroic gestures-except me-how to knock their wives up with good Morrow sons-how to make money without looking like they even give a damn. Oh the Morrows and the Morrows and the Morrows and the Morrows, to the last syllable of recorded time. 2. "This is a rotten country," said Cyril. "Oh, I don't know, you know, don't you know!" I said. 3. ... the photograph of Lotta Lindbeck he tore into small .bits across and across and across. 4. I wanted to knock over the table and hit him until my arm had no more strength in it, then give him the boot, give him the boot, give him the boot-I drew a deep breath . 5. There followed six months in Chicago, in which he painted not one picture that was satisfactory to him, that was not messed into nothingness by changes and changes and changes. 6. There seemed to be no escape, no prospect of freedom. "If I had a thousand pounds," thought Miss Fulkes, "a thousand pounds. A thousand pounds." The words were magical. "A thousand pounds." 7; One may see by their footprints that they have not walked arm in arm; and that they have not walked in a straight track, and that they have walked in a moody humour. 8. It were better that he knew nothing. Better for common sense, better for him, better for me. 9. He sat, still and silent, until his future landlord accepted his proposals and brought writing materials to complete the business. He sat, still and silent, while the landlord wrote. 10. Supposing his head had been held under water for a while. Supposing the first blow had been truer. Supposing he had been shot. Supposing he had been strangled. Supposing this way, that way, the other way. Supposing anything but getting unchained from the one idea for that was inexorably impossible. 11. The whitewashed room was pure white as of old, the methodical book-keeping was in peaceful progress as of old, and some distant howler was hanging against a cell door as of old. 12. I wake up and I'm alone, and I walk round Warley and I'm alone, and I talk with people and I'm alone and I look at his face when I'm home and it's dead. . . 13. He ran away from the battle. He was an ordinary human being that didn't want to kill or be killed, so he ran away from the battle. 14. . . .they took coach and drove westward. Not only drove westward, but drove into that particular westward division, which Bella had seen last when she turned her face from Mr. Boffin's door. Not only drove into that particular division, but drove at last into that very street. Not only drove into that very street, but stopped at last at that very house. 15. Failure meant poverty, poverty meant squalor, squalor led, in the final stages, to the smells and stagnation of B. Inn Alley. 16. If he had acted guilty . . . they would have had him. But he had carried it

off. He had carried it off, and it was the private who had come out as the guilty party. 17. Mr. Winkle is gone. He must be found, Sam-found and brought back to me. 18. . . .all was old and yellow with decay. And decay was the smell and being of that room. 19. You know-how brilliant he is, what he should be doing. And it hurts me. It hurts me every day of my life. 20. If you have anything to say, say it, say it. (9) Parallelism Exercise 1. Classify the following parallel constructions into complete and partial parallelism: 1. It was Mr. Squeers's custom to ... make a sort of report. . . regarding the relations and friends he had seen, the news he had heard, the letters he had brought down the bills which had been paid, the accounts which had been unpaid, and so forth. 2. It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world and attain even in the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose them in the course of nature. It is the fate of all authors or chroniclers to create imaginary friends, and lose them in the course of art. 3. You know I am very grateful to him; don't you? You know I feel a true respect for him . . . don't you? 4. . . .their anxiety is so keen, their vigilance is s great, their excited Joy grows so intense as the-signs of life strengthen, that how can she resist it! . . 5. "If you are sorrowful, let me know why, and be sorrowful, too; if you waste away and are paler and weakens every day, let me be your nurse and try to comfort you. If you are poor, let us be poor together; but let me be with you." What is it? Who is it? When was it? Where was it? How was it? 7. The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads were good, and the driver was willing. 8. The Reverend Frank Milvey's abode was a very modest abode, because his income was a very modest income. 9. . . -they all stood, high and dry, safe and sound, hale and hearty, upon the steps of the Blue Lion. 10. The expression of his face, the movement of his shoulders, the turn of his spine, the gesture of his hands, probably even the twiddle of his toes, all indicated a halfhumorous apology. 11. The one was all the other failed to be. Protective, not demanding; dependable, not weak; low-voiced, never strident. . . 12. The sky was dark and gloomy, the air damp and raw, the streets wet and sloppy. 13. Oh! be that ideal still! That great inheritance throw not away-that tower of ivory do not destroy! 14. Nostrils wide, scenting the morning air for the taint of game, his senses picked up something alien in the atmosphere. Naked body, taut and alert, his dark eyes searched the distance.

Exercise II. State what other syntactical stylistic means are used alongside with the following cases of parallelism. 1. He was a sallow man-all cobblers are; and had a strong bristly beard-all cobblers have. 2. You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, you know; or you wouldn't come here, you know. 3. Through all the misery that followed this union; through all the cold neglect and undeserved reproach; through all the poverty he brought upon her; through all the struggles of their daily life . , . she toiled on. 4. It's only an adopted child. One I have told her of. One I'm going to give the name to. 5. Secretly, after nightfall, he visited the home of the Prime Minister. He examined it from top to bottom. He measured all the doors and windows. He took up the flooring. He inspected the plumbing. He examined the furniture. He found nothing. 6. "Aha!" he cried. "Where now, Brass? Where now? Sally with you, too? Sweet Sally! And Dick? Pleasant Dick! And Kit? Honest Kit!" 7. Passage after passage did he explore; room after room did he'peep into . . . 8. Talent Mr. Micawber has. Capital Mr. Micawber has not. (10) Chiasmus Exercise I. Discuss the following cases of chiasmus. 1. I know the world and the world knows me. 2. Mr. Boffin looked full at the man, and the man looked full at Mr. Boffin. 3. There are so many sons who won't, have anything to do with their fathers, and so many fathers who won't speak to their sons. 4. I looked a't the gun, and the gun looked at me. 5. His dislike of her grew because he was ashamed of it ... Resentment bred shame, and shame in its turn bred more resentment. 6. For the former her adoration was ecstatic and therefore blind; her admiration for .the latter, although equally devoted, was less uncritical. 7. Well! Richard said that he would work his fingers to the bone for Ada, and Ada said that she would work her fingers to the bone for Richard. (11) Polysyndeton Exercise I. State the functions of the following examples of polysyndeton. Pay attention to the repeated conjunction and the number of repetitions. 1. And the coach, and the coachman, and the horses, rattled, and jangled, and whipped, and cursed, and swore, and tumbled on together, till they came to Golden Square. 2. And they wore their best and more colourful clothes. Red shirts and green shirts and yellow shirts and pink shirts. 3. Bella soaped his face and rubbed his face, and soaped his hands and rubbed his hands, and splashed him, and rinsed him and towelled him, until he was as red as beetroot. 4. . . .Then from the town pour Wops and Chinamen and Polaks, men and women in trousers and rubber coats and

oilcloth aprons. They come running to clean and cut and plack and cook and can the fish. The whole street rumbles and groans and screams and rattles while the silver rivers of fish pour in out of the boats and the boats rise higher and higher in the water until they are empty. The canneries rumble and rattle and squeak until the last fish is cleaned and cut and cooked and canned and then the i whistles scream again and the dripping smelly tired Wops and Chinamen and Polaks, men and women, straggle out and droop their ways up the hill into the town and Cannery Row becomes itself again-quiet and magical. |5. Mr. Richard, or his beautiful cousin, or both, could 1 sign something, or make over something, or give some sort of undertaking, or pledge, or bond? 6. First the front, then the back, then the sides, then the superscription, then the seal, were objects of Newman's admiration. (12) Asyndeton Exercise I. Analyse the following cases of asyndeton, indicating their functions and paying attention to the quality of units, connected asyndetically. 1. The pulsating motion of Malay Camp at night was everywhere. People sang, People cried. People fought. People loved. People hated. Others were sad. Others gay. Others with friends. Others lonely. Some died. Some were born. 2. The mail coach doors were on their hinges, the lining was replaced, the iron-work was as good as new, the paint was restored, the lamps were alight; cushions and great coats were on every coach box, porters were thrusting parcels into every boot, guards were stowing away letter bags, hostlers were dashing pails of water against the renovated wheels; numbers of men were rushing about. . ., portmanteaus were handed up, horses were put to, and in short it was perfectly clear that every mail there was to be off directly. 3. Double on their steps, though they may, weave in and out of the myriad corners of the city's streets, return, go forward, back, from side to side, here, there, anywhere, dodge, twist, wind, the central chamber where Death sits is reached inexorably at the end. 4. "Well, guess it's about time to turn in." He yawned, went out to look at the thermometer, slammed the door, patted her head, unbuttoned his waistcoat, yawned, wound the clock, went to look at the furnace, yawned, and clumped upstairs to bed, casually scratching his thick woolen undershirt. 5. Through his brain, slowly, sifted the things they had done together. Walking together. Dancing together. Sitting silent together. Watching people together. 6. With these hurried words, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed the postboy on one side, Jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door, put up the steps,

wafered the bill on the street-door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the word for starting . . . (V.A.Kukharenko. Seminars in Style. M., 1971, - pp. 66-85). GUIDE TO LEXICO-SYNTACTICAL STYLISTIC DEVICES Practical Exercises. (1) Climax Exercise I. Discuss the nature and distribution of the components of logical climax in the following examples. I.It was a mistake... a blunder... lunacy... 2. What I have always said, and what I always shall say, is, that this ante-post betting is a mistake, an error, and a mug's game. 3. And you went down the old steep way... the well-known toboggan run... insane pride... lies... treachery... murder... 4. Poor Ferse! Talk about trouble, Dinnyillness, poverty, vice, crime-none of them can touch mental derangement for sheer tragedy of all concerned. 5. He was numbed. He wanted to weep, to vomit, to die, to sink away. (A. B.) 6. It is done-past-finished! 7. "It must be a warm pursuit in such a climate," observed Mr. Pickwick. "Warm!- red hot!- scorching- glowing. 8. A storm's coming up. A hurricane. A deluge. 9. I was well inclined to him before I saw him. I liked him when I did see him; I admire him now. 10. There are drinkers. There are drunkards. There are! alcoholics. But these are only steps down the ladder. Right down at the bottom is the meths drinker - and man can't sink any lower than that. 11. "Say yes. If you don't, I'll break into tears. I'll sob. I'll moan. I'll growl." 12. "I swear to God. I never saw the beat of this winter.! More snow, more cold, more sickness, more death."! 13. "My nephew, I introduce to you a lady of strong force of character, like myself; a resolved lady, a stern lady, a lady who has a will that can break the weak to powder: a lady without pity, without love, implacable...' 14. "I designed them for each other; they were made for each other, sent into the world for each other, born for each other, Winkle", said Mr. Ben Alien. 15. I don't attach any value to money. I don't can about it, I don't know about it, I don't want it, I don' keep it-it goes away from me directly. Exercise II. State the nature of the increasing entities in the following examples of quantitative climax. 1. "You have heard of Jefferson Brick I see, Sir," quoth the Colonel with a smile. "England has heard of Jefferson Brick. Europe has heard of Jefferson Brick..." 2. R: "I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her minister when she was sick. He wrote Jane a letter and on the envelope the address was like

this. It said: Jane Crofut; The Crofut Farm; Grover's Corners; Sutton County; New Hampshire; United States of America." G: "What's funny about it?" R: "But listen, it's not finished: the United States of America; Continent of North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of Godthat's what it said on the envelope." 3. How many sympathetic souls can you reckon on in the world? One in ten-one in a hundred-one in a thousand-in ten thousand? Ah! 4. You know-after so many kisses and promises, the lie given to her dreams, her words ... the lie given to kisses-hours, days, weeks, months of unspeakable bliss... Exercise III. Classify the following examples of emotive climax according to their structure and the number of the components. 1. Of course it's important. Incredibly, urgently, desperately important. 2. "I have been so unhappy here, dear brother," sobbed poor Kate; "so very, very miserable." 3. The mother was a rather remarkable woman, quite remarkable in her way. 4. That's a nice girl; that's a very nice girl; a promising girl! 5. She felt better, immensely better, standing beside this big old man. 6. He who only five months before had sought her so eagerly with his eyes and intriguing smile. The liar! The brute! The monster! 7. I am a bad man, a wicked man, but she is worse. She is really bad. She is bad, she is badness. She is Evil. She not only is evil, but she is Evil. 8. "An unprincipled adventurer-a dishonourable character-a man who preys upon society, and makes easily-deceived people his dupes, sir, his absurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes, sir," said the excited Mr. P. 9. "I abhor the subject. It is an odious subject, an offensive subject, a subject that makes me sick." 10. "I'll smash you. I'll crumble you, I'll powder you. Go to the devil!" 11. "Upon my word and honour, upon my life, upon my soul, Miss Summerson, as I am a living man, I'll act according to your wish!" 12....to them boys she is a mother. But she is more than .a mother to them, ten times more. 13. Mr. Tulkinghorn ... should have communicated to him nothing of this painful, this distressing, this unlooked-for, this overwhelming, this incredible intelligence." Exercise IV. Comment on the influence of the negative particle upon the structure of climax and the meaning of its components. 1. No tree, no shrub, no blade of grass, not a bird or beast, not even a fish that was not owned! 2. "Not a word, Sam-not a syllable!" 3. Not a word, not a look, not a glance, did he bestow upon his heart's pride of the evening before. 4. "Fledgeby has not heard of anything." No, there's not a word of news," says Lammle. "Not a particle," adds

Boots. "Not an atom," chimes in Brewer. 5. "Be careful," said Mr. Jingle-"not a look." "Not a wink," said Mr. Tupman. "Not a syllable.-Not a whisper." Exercise V. Speak on the modes of organization of anticlimax. Pay attention to punctuation. 1. "In moments of utter crises my nerves act in the most extraordinary way. When utter disaster seems imminent, my whole being is simultaneously braced to avoid it. I size up the situation in a flash, set my teeth, contract my muscles, take a firm grip of myself, and without a tremor, a1ways do the wrong thing." 2. This was appalling-and soon forgotten. 3. Women have a wonderful instinct about things. They can discover everything-except the obvious. 4. .. .they ... were absolutely quiet; eating no apples, cutting no names, inflicting no pinches, and making no grimaces, for full two minutes afterwards. (2) Antithesis Exercise I. Give morphological and syntactical characteristics o| the following cases of antithesis.1. .. something significant may -come out at last, which may be criminal or heroic, may be madness or wisdom 2. Three bold and experienced mencool, confident and dry when they began; white, quivering and wet when they finished... 3. Don't use big words. They mean so little. 4. Mrs. Nork had a large home and a small husband. 5. He ... ordered a bottle of the worst possible portwine, at the highest possible price. 6. It is safer fo be married to the man you can be happy with than to the man you cannot be happy without. 7. The mechanics are underpaid, and underfed, and overworked, 8. There was something eerie about the apartment house, an unearthly quiet that was a combination of over-carpeting and under-occupancy. 9. In marriage the upkeep of woman is often the downfall of man. Exercise II. Analyse the following examples of developed antithesis. 1. Cannery Row in Monlerey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron, and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and. little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses. Its inhabitants are, as the man once said, "whores pimps, gamblers and sons of bitches," by which he meant Everybody. Had the man looked through" another peephole he might have said, "saints and angels and martyrs and holy men," and he would have meant the same thing. 2. Men's talk was better than women's. Never food, never babies, never sickness, or boots needing mending, but people, what

happened, the reason. Not the state of the house, but the state of the Army. Not the children next door, but the rebels in France. Never what broke the china, but who broke 'the treaty. Not what spoilt the washing, but who spilled the beans... Some of it was puzzling and some.' of it was tripe, but all of it was better than darning Charley's socks. 3. ...as we passed it seemed that two worlds were meeting. The world of worry about rent and rates and| groceries, of the smell of soda and blacklead and "No Smoking" and "No Spitting" and "Please Have the Correct Change Ready" and the world of the Rolls and the Black Market clothes and the Coty perfume and the career ahead of one running on well-oiled grooves to a knighthood... 4. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way-in short the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. 5. They went down to the camp in black, but they came back to the town in white; they went down to the camp in ropes, they came back in chains of gold; they went down to the camp in fetters, but came back with their steps enlarged under them; they went also to the camp looking for death, but they came back from thence with assurance of life; they went down to the camp with heavy hearts, but came back with pipes and tabor playing before them. 6. A special contrast Mr. George makes to Smallweed family ... It is a broadsword to an oyster knife. His developed figure, and their stunned forms; his large manner filling any amount of room, and their little narrow pinched ways; his sounding voice and their sharp spare tones are in the strongest and the strangest opposition. (3) Litotes Exercise I. Classify the following cases of litotes according to the structure. 1. His sister was in favor of this obvious enthusiasm on the part of her brother, although she was not unaware that her brother more and more gave to her the status of a privileged governess. 2. "I am not unmindful of the fact that I owe you ten dollars." 3. "How slippery it is, Sam." "Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir," replied Mr. Weller. 4. In a sharp, determined way her face was not unhandsome. 5. Powell's sentiment of amused surprise was not un-mingled with indignation. 6. He was laughing at Lottie but not unkindly. (Hut.) 7. .. .there was something bayonetlike

about her, something not altogether unadmirable. 8. She had a snouty kind of face, which was not completely unpretty. 9. The idea was not totally erroneous. The thought did not displease me. 10. She was not without realisation already that this thing was impossible, so far as she was concerned. 11. It was not without satisfaction that Mrs. Sunbury perceived that Betty was offended. 12. Bell understood, not without sympathy, that Queen had publicly committed himself. 13. Kirsten said not without dignity: "Too much talking is unwise." 14. She couldn't help remembering those last terrible days in India. Not that she isn't very happy now, of course... 15. Well, I couldn't say no: it was too romantic. 16. I felt I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea. 17. I don't think I'm the type that doesn't even lift a finger to prevent a wedding from flatting. 18. ...I am a vagabond of the harumscarum order, and not of the mean sort... 19. Not altogether by accident he was on the train that brought her back to New York at the end of school. 20. He was almost the same height standing up as sitting down (a not all that rare type of physique in Wales). Exercise II. Comment on the nature and function of litotes. 1. Joe Clegg also looked surprised and possibly not too pleased. 2. He was not over-pleased to find Wimsey palpitating on his door-step. 3. "How are you feeling, John?" "Not too bad." 4. He wasn't too awful. 5. The place wasn't too tidy. 6. I turned to Margaret who wasn't looking too happy. 7. "It's not too bad," Jack said, vaguely defending the last ten years. (7) Simile. Exercise I. Classify the following into traditional and original similes. 1. "The man is a public nuisance and ought to be put down by the police," said the little Princess beating her foot on the floor. "He has a tongue like a sword and a pen like a dagger," said the young Roman. 2. She went on to say that she wanted all her children absorb the meaning of the words they sang, not just mouth them, like sillybilly parrots. 3. She was obstinate as a mule, always had been, from a child. 4. "When my missus gets sore she is as hot as at oven." 5. The air was warm and felt like a kiss as we steppe off the plane. 6. Like a sigh, the breath of a living thing, the smoke rose. 7. She has always been as live as a bird. 8. As they sang they took turns spin-dancing a girl over the cobbles under the El; and 'the girl ... floated round in their arms light as a scarf. 9. "That's the place where we are to lunch; and by Jove there's the boy with the basket, punctual as clock-work. 10. He stood immovable like a rock in a torrent. 11. He wore a grey double-breasted waistcoat,

and his eyes gleamed like raisins. 12. His speech had a jerky, metallic rhythm, like a teletype. 13. The lamp made an ellipse of yellow light on the ceiling, and on the mantel the little alabaster clock dripped time like a leaking faucet. 14. I left her laughing. The sound was like a hen having hiccups. Exercise II. State the semantic field, to which the second components of the similes belong. 1. Children! Breakfast is just as good as any other meal and I won't have you gobbling like wolves. 2. The eyes were watery and veined with red, like the eyes of a hound who lies too often too close to the fire. 3. His mind went round and round like a squirrel in a cage, going over the past. 4. "We can hear him coming. He's got a tread like a rhinoceros." 5. "I'm as sharp," said Quilp to him at parting, "as sharp as a ferret." 6. And then in a moment she would come to life and be as quick and restless as a monkey. 7. It-was a young woman and she entered like a wind-rush, a squall of scarves and jangling gold. 8. "Funny how ideas come," he said afterwards, "Like a flash of lightning." 9. The sidewalks ran like spring ice going out, grinding and hurried and packed close from bank to bank. 10. She perceived that even personalities were failing to hold the party. The room filled with hesitancy as with a fog. Exercise III. Analyse the causes, due to which a developed image is created (key to a simile, explicitness of the second component, etc.). 1. He felt like an old book: spine defective, covers dull, slight foxing, fly missing, rather shaken copy. 2. "You're like the East. One loves it at first sight, or not at all, and one never knows it any better." 3. He ached from head to foot, all zones of pain seemingly interdependent. He was rather like a Christmas tree whose lights, wired in series, must all go out if eve) one bulb is defective. 4. London seems to me like some hoary massive under world, a hoary ponderous inferno. The traffic flows through the rigid grey streets like the rivers of hell through the banks of dry, rocky ash. 5. It (the district) lies on the face of the county like an insignificant stain, like a dark Pleiades in a green and empty sky. And Handbridge has the shape of a horse and its rider, Bursley of half a donkey, Knype a pair of trousers, Longshaw of an octopus, and little Turnhill of a beetle. The Five Towns seem to cling together for safety, 6. For a long while-for many years in fact-he had not thought of how it was before he came to the farm. His memory of those times was like a house where no one lives and where the furniture has rotted away. But tonight it was as if lamps had been lighted through all the gloomy dead rooms. 7. Mag Wildwood couldn't understand

it, the abrupt absence of warmth on her return; the conversation she began behaved like green logs, they fumed but would not fire. IV. Analyse the following disguised similes. Indicate verbs and phrases organizing them.1. H.G. Wells ... reminded her of the rice paddies in her native California. Acres and acres of shiny water but never more than two inches deep. 2. There are in every large chicken-yard a number of old and indignant hens who resemble Mrs. Bogart and when they are served at Sunday noon dinner, as fricasseed chicken with thick dumplings, they keep up the resemblance. 3. ...grinning a strangely taut, fullwidth grin which made his large teeth resemble a dazzling miniature piano I keyboard in the green light. 4. Her startled glance descended like a beam of light, and settled for a moment on the man's face. He was fortyish and rather fat, with a moustache that made her, think of the yolk of an egg, and a nose that spread itself. (W.D.) 5. Scobie turned up James- Street past the Secretariat. With its long balconies it has always reminded him of a hospital. For fifteen years he had watched the arrival of a succession of patients: periodically at the end of eighteen months certain patients were sent home, yellow and nervy, and others took their place-Colonial Secretaries, Secretaries of Agriculture, Treasurers and Directors of Public Works. He watched their temperature charts every one- the first outbreak of unreasonable temper, the drink too many, the sudden attack for principle after a year of acquiescence. The black clerks carried their bedside manner like doctors down the corridors: cheerful and respectful, they put up with any insult. The patient was always right. 6. I'm not nearly hot enough to draw a word-picture that would do justice to that extraordinarily hefty crash. Try to imagine the Albert Hall falling on the Crystal Palace, and you will have got the rough idea. (5) Periphrasis Exercise I. Distribute the following periphrases into original and traditional. 1. "Did you ever see anything in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct towards the opposite sex to induce you to believe... 2. Within the next quarter-hour a stagparty had taken over the apartment, several of them in uniform. I counted two Naval officers and an Air Force colonel: but they were outnumbered by graying arrivals beyond draft status. 3. His arm about her, he led her in and bawled, "Ladies and worser halves, the bride!" 4. I was earning barely enough money to keep body and soul together. (S. M.) 5. Bill went with him and they returned with a tray of glasses, siphons and other necessaries of life. 6. .. .1 participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. 7. "The way I look at it is

this," he told his wife. "We've all of us got a little of the Old Nick in us... The way I see it, that's just a kind of energy". 8. The nose was anything but Grecian-that was a certainty, for it pointed to heaven. Exercise II. Discuss the following euphemistic periphrases. 1. Everything was conducted on the most liberal and delightful scale. Excisable articles were remarkably cheap at all the public houses; and spring vans paraded the streets for the accommodation of voters who were seized with any temporary dizziness in the head-an epidemic which prevailed among the electors during the contest, to a most alarming extent, and under the influence of which they might frequently be seen lying on the pavements in a state of utter insensibility. 2. "I expect you'd like a wash," Mrs. Thompson said. "The bathroom's to the right and the usual offices next to it." (J. Br.) 3. In the left corner, built out into the room, is the toilet with the sign "This is it" on the door. 4. I am thinking an unmentionable thing about your mother. 5. Jean nodded without turning and slid between two vermilion-coloured buses so that two drivers simultaneously used the same qualitative word. 6. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying for many years the esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of guardians of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the world, to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a custom-house can never afford. 7. James Porter, aged 25, was bound over last week after pleading guilty to interfering with a small cabbage and two tins of beans on his way home... Exercise III. Classify the following figurative periphrases into metaphorical and metonymical. 1. The hospital was crowded with the surgically interesting products of the fighting in Africa. 2. The beach, strewn with the steel overflow of the factories at home, looked like a rummaged basement in some store for giants. 3. He would make some money and then he would come back and marry his dream from Blackwood. 4. "Well! Here's the Police Court. I'm sorry I cant spare time to come in. But everybody will be nice to you It's a very human place, if somewhat indelicate... Come back to tea, if you can." She was gone. The exchange and mart of human indelicacy was crowded... 5. For a single instant, Birch was helpless, his blood curdling in his veins at 'the imminence of the danger, and his legs refusing their natural and necessary office. 6. .. .1 contracted pneumonia, in that day a killing disease. I went down and down, until the wing tips of the angels brushed my

eyes. 7 His face was red, the back of his neck overflowed his collar, and there had recently been published a second edition of his chin. Exercise IV. State the nature and functions of the following periphrases. 1. "That elegant connection of ours - that dear lady who was here yesterday-". "I understand," said Arthur. "Even that affable and condescending ornament of society," pursued Mr. Meagles, "may misrepresent us, we are afraid." 2. She was still fat; the destroyer of her figure sat at the head of the table. 3. When he saw that I was looking at him, he closed his eyes, sleepily, angelically, then stuck out his tongue - an appendage of startling length-and gave out what in my country would have been a glorious tribute to a myopic umpire. It fairly shook the tearoom4. And then we 'take a soldier and put murder in his hands and we say to him... "Go out and kill as many of a certain kind of classification of your brothers as you can." 5. Also, my draft board was displaying an uncomfortable interest; and, having so recently escaped the regimentation of a small town, the idea of entering another form of disciplined life made me desperate. 6. I wanted something that would depict my face as Heaven gave it to me, humble though the gift may have been. 7. In the inns Utopians were shouting the universe into order over beer, and in the halls and parks the dignity of England was being preserved in a fitting manner. The villages were full of women who did nothing but fight against dirt and hunger,, and repair the effects of friction on clothes. (6) Represented Speech Exercise I. Classify the following examples of represented speech into represented inner and represented uttered speech. 1.Me looked at the distant green wall. It would be a long walk in this rain, and a muddy - one. He was tired and he was depressed. His toes squelched in his shoes. Anyway, what would they find? Lots of trees. 2. I shook her as hard as I could. I'd done it in play before, when she'd asked me to hurt her, please hurt her; but this time I was in brutal earnest... 3. ".. .You ought to make a good mural decorator some day, if you have the inclination," Boyle went on, "You've got the sense of beauty." The roots of Eugene's hair tingled. So art was coming to him. This man saw his capacity. He really had art in him. 4. Ottilie should have been the happiest girl in Port-au- Prince. As Baby said to her, look at all the things that can be put to your credit: you have a lovely light color, even almost blue eyes, and such a pretty, sweet face-there in no girl on the road with steadier customers, every one of them ready to buy you all the beer you can drink. 5. He held the cigarette in his mouth, tasting it, feeling, its roundness, for

a long time before he lit it. Then with a sigh, feeling, well, I've earned it, he lit the cigarette. 6. She hadn't wanted to marry him or anyone else, for that matter, unless it was someone like her father. But there was no one like her father. No one she had ever seen. So, oh, well, what's the diff! You have to get married some time. 7. For once Wilson's hand (of cards) was poor, and after staying a round because he was the heavy winner, he dropped out. When the campaign was over, he told himself, he was going to drum up some way of making liquor. There was a mess sergeant over in Charley Company who must have made two thousand of them pounds, the way he sold a quart for five pounds. All a man needed was sugar and yeast and some of them cans of peaches or apricots. In anticipation he felt a warm mellow glow in his chest. Why, you could even make it with less. Cousin Ed, he remembered, had used molasses and raisins, and his stuff had been passing decent. For a moment, though, Wilson was dejected. If he was going to fix himself any, he would have to steal all the makings from the mess tent some night, and he'd have to find a place to hide it for a couple of days. And then he'd need a good little nook where he could leave the mash. It couldn't be too near the bivouac or anybody might be stumbling onto it and yet it shouldn't be too far if a man wanted to siphon off a little in a hurry. There was just gonna be a lot of problems to it, unless he waited till the campaign was over and they were in permanent bivouac. But that was gonna take too long. It might be even three or four months. Wilson began to feel restless. There was just too much figgering a man had to do if he wanted to get anything for himself in the Army. Exercise II. Discuss lexical and grammatical phenomena characterizing represented inner speech. 1. Then he would bring her back with him to New-Yorkhe, Eugene Witla, already famous in the East. Already the lure of the big eastern city was in his mind, its palaces, its wealth, its fame. It was the great world he knew, this side of Paris and London. He would go to it now, shortly. What would he be there? How great? How soon? So he dreamed. 2. Angela looked at him with swimming eyes. He was really different from anything she had ever known, young, artistic, imaginative, ambitious. He was going out into a world, which she had longed for but never hoped to see that of art. Here one was telling her of his prospective art studies, and talking of Paris. What a wonderful thing! 3 Oh, love, love! Edward! Edward! Oh, he would not, could not remain away. She must see him-give him a chance to explain. She must make him understand that it was not want of love but fear of life - her father, everything, everybody - that kept her so

sensitive, aloof, remote. 4. And then he laughed at himself. He was getting nervy and het up like everybody else in the house. Exercise III. Indicate characteristic features of represented uttered speech. 1. I then found a couple of stale letters to reread, one from my wife ... and one from my mother-in-law, asking me to please send her some cashmere yarn. 2. The Mayor of Maycomb asked us to please help the garbage collector by dumping our own trees and trash. 3. Angela, who was taking in every detail of Eugene's old friend, replied in what seemed an affected tone that no, she wasn't used to studio life: she was just from the country, you know-a regular farmer girl - Blackwood, Wisconsin, no less!.. 4. Rosita sniffed and... in her well-bottom voice declared that yes, it was better that they stay out of the sun, as it seemed to be affecting Ottilie's head. 5. Certainly he had seen nobody remotely resembling the photograph of Gowan. Was there anybody at all like what Gowan would be if clean-shaven? Well, there now, that was asking something that was. Had the Inspector any idea what a 'edge-'og would look like without its spikes? 6. .. .the servants summoned by the passing maid without a bell being rung, and quick, quick, let all this luggage be taken down into the hall and let one of you call a cab. 7. He kept thinking he would write to her-he had-no other girl acquaintance now; and just before he entered art school he did this, penning, a little note saying that he remembered so pleasantly their ride; and when was she coming? 8. "... So I've come to be servant to you." "How much do you want?" "I don't know. My keep, I suppose." Yes, she could cook. Yes, she could wash. Yes, she could mend, she could darn. She knew how to shop a market. (V.A.Kukharenko. Seminars in Style. M., 1971, - pp. 86-106).

FUNCTIONAL STYLES OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. A. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

We have already pointed out the most characteristic features of the styles of language and how they should be distinguished from the written and spoken varieties of language. Each style of the literary language makes use of a group of language means the inter relation of which is peculiar to the given style. It is the coordinatior of the language means and stylistic devices, which shapes the distinctive features of each style, and not the language means or stylistic devices themselves. Each style, however, can be recognized by one or more leading features, which are especially conspicuous. For instance the use of special

terminology is a lexical characteristic of the style of scientific prose, and one, by which it can easily be recognized. However, any style being a system in which various features are interwoven in a particular manner, one group of language means, a leading feature though it may be, will not suffice to determine the style. A close analysis of the interrelation between the language means in a given passage will enable the student to recognize different styles and even to build up a system incorporating them. A style of language can be defined as a system of coordinated, interrelated and interconditioned language means intended to fulfill a specific function of communication and aiming at a definite effect. Each style is a relatively stable system at the given stage in the development of the literary language, but it changes, and sometime; considerably, from one period to another. Therefore style of language is a historical category. There are many instances to prove this. Thus, the style of emotive prose actually began to function as an independent style after the second half of the 16th century; the newspaper style budded off from the publicistic style; the oratorical style has undergone considerable fundamental changes and so with other styles. The development of each style is predetermined by the changes in the norms of Standard English. It is also greatly influenced by changing social conditions, the progress of science and the development of cultural life in the country. For instance, the emotive elements of language were abundantly used in scientific prose in the 18th century. This is explained by the fact that scientists in many fields used the emotional language instead of one more logically precise and convincing, because the\ lacked the scientific data obtainable only by deep, prolonged research With the development of science and the accumulation of scientific data, emotive elements gave way to convincing arguments and "stub born" facts. The English literary language has evolved a number of style easily distinguishable one from another. They are not homogeneous and fall into several variants all having some central point of resemblance, or better to say, all integrated by the invariant - i.e., the abstract ideal system. We shall now consider each of the styles in its most characteristic features. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971 pp.253-255). THE BELLES-LETTRES STYLE We have already pointed out that the belles-lettres style is a generic term for three substyles in which the main principles and the most general properties of the

style are materialized. These three substyles are: 1. The language of poetry, or simply verse. 2. Emotive prose, or the language of fiction. 3. The language of the drama. Each of these substyles has certain common features, typical of the general belles-lettres style, which make up the foundation of the style, by which the particular style is made recognizable and can therefore be singled out. Each of them also enjoys some individuality. This is revealed in definite features typical only of one or another substyle. This correlation of the general and the particular in each variant of the belles-lettres style had manifested itself differently at different stages in its historical development. The common features of the substyles may be summed up as follows. First of all comes the common function, which may broadly be called "aesthetico-cognitive." This is a double function, which aims at the cognitive process, which secures the gradual unfolding of the idea to the reader and at the same time calls forth a feeling of pleasure, a pleasure, which is derived from the form in which the content is wrought. The psychological element- pleasure is not irrelevant when evaluating the effect of the communication.1 This pleasure is caused not only by admiration of the selected language means and their peculiar arrangement but also, and this is perhaps the main cause, by the fact that the reader is led to form his own conclusions as to the purport of the author. Nothing gives more pleasure and satisfaction than realizing that one has the ability to penetrate into the hidden tissue of events, phenomena and human activity, and to perceive the relation between various seemingly unconnected facts brought together by the creative mind of the writer. Since the belles-lettres style has a cognitive function as well as an aesthetic one, it follows that it has something in common with scientific style, which will be discussed in detail later, but which is here mentioned for the sake of comparison. The purpose of science as a branch of human activity is to disclose by research the inner substance of things and phenomena of objective reality and find out the laws regulating them, thus enabling man to predict, control and direct their further development in order to improve the material and social life of mankind. The style of scientific prose is therefore mainly characterized by an arrangement of language means, which will bring proofs to clinch a theory. Therefore we say that the main function of scientific prose is proof. The selection of language means must therefore meet this principal requirement. The purpose of the belles-lettres style is not to prove but only to suggest a possible interpretation of the phenomena of life by forcing the reader to see the viewpoint of the writer. This is the cognitive function of the belles-lettres style.

From all this it follows, therefore, that the belles-lettres style must select a system of language means which will secure the effect sought, which is an aestheticocognitive effect. In showing the difference in the manner of thinking of the man-ofletters and the man-of-science, N. A. Dobrolubov writes: "The man-of-letters... thinks concretely, never losing sight of particular phenomena and images; the other (the man-of-science) strives to generalize, to merge all particulars in one general formula.'' The belles-lettres style rests on certain indispensable linguistic features, which are: 1. Genuine, not trite, imagery, achieved by purely linguistic devices. 2. The use of words in contextual and very often in more than one dictionary meaning, or at least greatly influenced by the lexical environment. 3. A vocabulary which will reflect to a greater or lesser degree the author's personal evaluation of things or phenomena. 4. A peculiar individual selection of vocabulary and syntax, a kind of lexical and syntactical idiosyncrasy. 5. The introduction of the typical features of colloquial language to a full degree, (in plays) or a lesser one (in emotive prose) or a slight degree, if any (in poems). The belles-lettres style is individual in essence. This is one of its most distinctive properties. Individuality in selecting language means (including stylistic devices), extremely apparent in poetic style, becomes gradually less in, let us say, publicistic style, is hardly noticeable in the style of scientific prose and is entirely lacking in newspapers and in official style. The relation between the general and the particular assumes different forms in different styles and in their variants. This relation is differently materialized even within one and the same style. This is due to the strong imprint of personality on any work of poetic style. There may be a greater or lesser volume of imagery (but not an absence of imagery); a greater or lesser number of words with contextual meaning (but not all words without contextual meaning); a greater or lesser number of colloquial elements (but not a complete absence of colloquial elements). (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971 pp.253-255). LANGUAGE OF POETRY The first substyle we shall consider is verse. Its first differentiating property is its orderly form, which is based mainly on the rhythmic and phonetic arrangement of the utterances. The rhythmic aspect calls forth syntactical and semantic peculiarities, which also fall into a more or less strict orderly arrangement. Both the syntactical and semantic aspects of the poetic substyle may be defined as compact,

for they are held in check by rhythmic patterns. Both syntax and semantics comply with the restrictions imposed by the rhythmic pattern, and the result is brevity of expression, epigram-like utterances, and fresh, unexpected imagery. Syntactically this brevity is shown in elliptical and fragmentary sentences, in detached constructions, in inversion, asyndeton and other syntactical peculiarities. Rhythm and rhyme are immediately distinguishable properties of the poetic substyle provided they are wrought into compositional patterns. They can be called the external differentiating features of the substyle, typical only of this one variety of the belles-lettres style. The various compositional forms of rhyme and rhythm are generally studied under the terms versification or prosody. Let us examine the external properties or features of the poetic substyle in detail. a) Compositional Patterns of Rhythmical Arrangement Metre and Line It is customary to begin the exposition of the theory of English versification with the statement that "...there is no established principle of English versification." But this statement may apply to almost any branch of linguistic science. Science in general can live and develop only provided that there are constant disputes on the most crucial issues of the given science. English versification is no exception. We have already discussed some of the most general points of rhythm. This was a necessary introduction to English versification, inasmuch as English verse is entirely based on rhythmical arrangement and rhyme. Both rhythm and rhyme are objective qualities of language and exist outside verse.1 But in verse both have assumed their compositional patterns and, perhaps, due to this, they are commonly associated with verse. The most observable and widely recognized compositional patterns of rhythm, making up classical verse, are based on: 1) alternation of stressed and unstressed syllables,' 2) equilinearity, that is, an equal number of syllables in the lines, 3) a natural pause at the end of the line, the line being a more or less complete semantic unit, 4) identity of stanza pattern, 5) established patterns of rhyming. Less observable, although very apparent in modern versification, are 'all kinds of deviations from these rules, some of them going so far that classical poetry ceases to be strictly classical and becomes what is called free verse, which in extreme cases borders on prose. English verse, like all verse, emanated from song. Verse assumes an independent existence only when it tears itself away from song. Then only does it acquire the status of a genuine poetic system, and rhythm, being the substitute for music, assumes a new significance. The unit of measure of

poetic rhythm in English versification is not so much of a quantitative as of a qualitative character. The unit of measure in musical rhythm is the time allotted to its reproduction, whereas the unit of measure in English verse rhythm is the quality of the alternating element (stressed or unstressed). Therefore English versification, like Russian, is called qualitative, in contradistinction to the old Greek verse, which, being sung, was essentially quantitative. In classic English verse, quantity is taken into consideration only when it is a matter of the number of feet in a line. That is why classic English verse is called syllabotonic. Two parameters are taken into account in defining the measure: the number of syllables (syllabo) and the distribution of stresses (tonic). The nature of the English language with its specific phonetic laws, however, is incompatible with the demand for strict regularity in the alternation of similar units, and hence there are a number of accepted deviations from established metrical schemes, which we shall discuss in detail after pointing out the most recognizable English metrical patterns. There are five of them: 1.Iambic metre, in which the unstressed syllable is followed by a stressed one. 2. Trochaic metre, where the order is reversed, i.e. a stressed syllable is followed by one unstressed. 3. Dactylic metre - one stressed syllable is followed by two unstressed. (Many linguists hold that verse rhythm is based on alternation between stronger and weaker stresses. They maintain that four degrees of stresses are easily recognizable. But for the sake of abstraction-an indispensable process in scientific investigation-the opposition of stressed-unstressed syllables is the only authentic way of presenting the problem of verse rhythm.) 4. Amphibrachic metre - one stressed syllable is framed by two unstressed. 5.Anapaestic metre- two unstressed syllables are followed by one stressed. These arrangements of qualitatively different syllables are the units of the metre, the repetition of which makes verse. One unit is called a foot. The number of feet in a line varies, but it has its limit; it rarely exceeds eight. If the line consists of only one foot it is called a manometer; a line consisting of two feet is a demeter; three - trimeter; four - tetrameter; five - pentameter; six - hexameter; seven - septameter; eight - octameier. In defining the measure, that is the kind of ideal metrical scheme of a verse, it is necessary to point out both the type of metre and the length of the line. Thus a line that consists of four iambic feet, is called iambic tetrameter; correspondingly a line consisting of eight trochaic feet will be called trochaic octameter, and so on. English verse is predominantly iambic. This is sometimes explained by the iambic tendency of the English language in general. Most of the English words have a

trochaic tendency, that is the stress falls on the first syllable of two-syllabic words. But in actual speech these words are preceded by non-stressed articles, prepositions, conjunctions or by unstressed syllables of preceding words thus imparting an iambic character to English speech. As a result iambic metre is more common in English verse than any other metre. Here are a few examples illustrating various metrical arrangements of English verse. 1. Iambic pentameter: Oh let me true in love but truly write 2. Trochaic tetrameter: Would you ask me whence these stories 3. Dactylic dimeter: Cannon to right of them 'Cannon to left of them 4. Amphibrachic tetrameter: O, where are you going to all you Big Steamers 5. Anapaestic tetrameter: Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove If we make a careful study of almost any poem, we will find what are called irregularities or modifications of its normal metrical pattern. These modifications generally have some special significance, usually connected with the sense, though in some cases they may be due to the nature of the language material itself. This is particularly the case with the first modification when the stress is lifted from a syllable on which the language will not allow stress, and we have what is called a pyrrhic foot instead of an iambic or a trochee, for example: So, that now to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating (Poe); But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy (Keats) In both examples the stress is lifted from prepositions on which the stress very seldom falls, therefore pyrrhics are very common and quite natural modifications in English verse. The second common modification of the rhythmical pattern is the intrusion of a trochee into an iambic metre or of an iambus into a trochaic one. This is called rhythmic inversion. The third modification is the insertion of a foot of two stressed syllables, called a spondee. It is used instead of an iambus or a trochee. In Shakespeare's iambic pentameter these two modifications are frequently to be found, for example: The morn in russet mantle clad Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill Here the first foot of the second line is rhythmic inversion, and the fourth is a spondee. Rhythmic inversion and the use of the spondee may be considered

deliberate devices to reinforce the semantic significance of the word combinations. Here are other examples: Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Lured by the love of the genii that move The spondee as a rhythmic modifier, unlike the pyrrhic, is always used to give added emphasis. This may be explained by the fact that two successive syllables both under heavy stress produce a kind of clash, as a result of which the juncture between the syllables becomes wider, thus making each of them conspicuous. A pyrrhic smooths and quickens the pace of the rhythm; a spondee slows it down and makes it jerky. Pyrrhics may appear in almost any foot in a line, though they are rarely found in the last foot. This is natural as the last foot generally has a rhyming word and rhyming words are always stressed. Spondees generally appear in the first or the last foot. These three modifiers of the rhythm are the result of the clash between the requirements of the metrical scheme and the natural tendency of the language material to conform to its phonetic laws. The more verse seeks to reflect the lively norms of colloquial English, the more frequently are modifications such as those described to be found. The fourth modifier has to do with the number of syllables in the line. There may be either a syllable missing or there may be an extra syllable. Thus the last syllable of a trochaic odometer is often missing as in this line from Poe's "The Raven". Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before. This is called a hypo metric line. Other lines in the poem have the full sixteen syllables. In iambic metre there may be an extra syllable at the end of the line. In the line from the Shakespeare's sonnet: "Then in these thoughts myself almost despising" there are eleven syllables, whereas there should have been ten, the line being iambic pentameter, as are all the lines of a sonnet. A line with an extra syllable is called hypermetric. Such departures from the established measure also break to some extent the rhythmical structure of the verse, and are therefore to be considered modifications of the rhythm. The fifth departure from the norms of classic verse is enjambment, or the run-on line. This term is used to denote the transfer of a part-of a syntagm from one line to the following one, as in the following lines from Byron's "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage": 1. Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast 2. Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days;

6. While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape 7. The fascination of the magic gaze? It will be observed that here again is a violation of the requirements of the classical verse according to which the line must be a more or less complete unit in itself. Here we have the overflowing of the sense to the next line due to the break of the syntagm - in the first and sixth lines the close predicate-object groups. The lines seem to be torn into two halves, the second half flowing structurally into the first half of the next line. The first impression is that this is some kind of prose, and not verse, but this impression is immediately contradicted by the feeling that there is a definite metrical scheme and pattern of rhyming. The rhythmic pattern of the verse leads us to anticipate a certain semantic structure; but when the device of enjambment is used, what we anticipate is brought into conflict with what we actually find, that is, what is actually materialized. This is still more acutely felt in the case of stanza enjambment. Here the sense of a larger rhythmic unit, the stanza, which is generally self-contained and complete, is made to flow over to the second stanza. Here is an example from Byron's "Childe Harold", Canto I, stanzas LI and LII. LI 8. The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, 9. The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match, LII 1. Portend the deeds to come: - but he whose nod 2. Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, The essence of enjambment is the violation of the concordance between the rhythmical and the syntactical unity in a line of verse. At the end of each rhythmical line in classical verse there must be a pause of an appreciable size between the lines, which ensures the relative independence of each. The juncture between the lines is wide. Enjambment throws a part of the syntagm over to the second line, thus causing the pause to grow smaller and the juncture closer. This leads to a break in the rhythmico-syntactical unity of the lines; they lose their relative independence. Stanza enjambment is the same in nature, but it affects larger rhythmico-syntactical units, the stanzas. Here we seldom witness the break of a syntagm, but the final part of the utterance is thrown over to the next stanza, thus uniting the two stanzas, breaking the self-sufficiency of each and causing the juncture between the stanzas to close considerably. It is important to remind the reader that modifications in English metre, no matter how frequent, remain

modifications, for the given metrical scheme is not affected to any appreciable extent. As a matter of fact these irregularities may be said to have become regular. They add much variety and charm to the verse. Indeed, if the metre is perfectly regular without any of the five modifications described above, the verse may sound mechanical and lifeless, artificial and monotonous. The Stanza We have defined rhythm as more or less regular alternations of similar units. Of the units of verse rhythm the following have been named: the syllable, the foot, the line and finally the stanza. The stanza is the largest unit in verse. It is composed of a number of lines having a definite measure and rhyming system, which is repeated throughout the poem. The stanza is generally built up on definite principles with regard to the number of lines, the character of the metre and the rhyming pattern. There are many widely recognized stanza patterns in English poetry, but we shall name only the following. 1) The heroic couplet - a stanza that consists of two iambic pentameters with the rhyming pattern aa. Specialists in versification divide the history of the development of this stanza into two periods: the first is the period of Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" and the second the period of Marlowe, Chapman and other Elizabethan poets. The first period is characterized by the marked flexibility of the verse, the relative freedom of its rhythmic arrangement in which there are all kinds of modifications. The second period is characterized by rigid demands for the purity of its rhythmical structure. The heroic couplet, beginning with the 16th century and particularly in the poetry of Spencer, was enchained by strict rules of versification, and lost its flexibility and freedom of arrangement. The heroic couplet was later mostly used in elevated forms of poetry, in epics and odes. Alexander Pope used the heroic couplet in his "The Rape of the Lock" with a satirical purpose, that of parodying the epic. Here are two couplets from this poem: "Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rent the affrighted skies. Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or when lapdogs breathe their last;" 2) The next model of stanza which once enjoyed popularity was The Spencerian stanza, named after Edmund Spencer, the 16th century poet who first used this type of stanza in his "Fairy Queene." It consists of nine lines, the first eight of which are iambic pentameters and the ninth is one foot longer, that is an iambic hexameter. The rhyming scheme is ababbcbcc. Byron's "Childe Harold" is written in this stanza:

1. Awake, ye sons of Spain! Awake! Advance! (a) 2. Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries, (b) 3. But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, (a) 4. Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies: (b) 5. Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, (b), 6. And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: (c) 7. In every peal she calls-"Awake! Arise!" (b) 8. Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, (c) 9. When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore? (c) 3) The stanza named ottava rima has also been popular in English poetry. It is composed of eight iambic pentameters, the rhyming scheme being abababcc. This type of stanza was borrowed from Italian poetry and was widely used by Philip Sidney and other poets of the 16th century. Then it fell into disuse but was revived at the end of the 18th century. Byron used it in his poem "Beppo" and in "Don Juan." Here it is: 1. "With all its sinful doings, I must say, (a) 2. That Italy's a pleasant place to me, (b) 3. Who love to see the Sun shine every day, (a) 4. And vines (not nail'd to walls) from tree to tree (6) 5. Festoon'd much like the back scene of a play (a) 6. Or melodrame, which people flock to see, (b) 7. When the first act is ended by a dance (c) 8. In vineyards copied from the South of France." (c) 4) A looser form of stanza is the ballad stanza. This is generally an alternation of iambic tetrameters with iambic dimeters (or trimeters) and the rhyming scheme is abcb; that is, the tetrameters are not rhymed - the trimeters are. True, there are variants of the ballad stanza, particularly in the length of the stanza. The ballad, which is a very old, perhaps the oldest form of English verse, is a short story in rhyme, sometimes with dialogue and direct speech. In the poem of Beowulf there are constant suggestions that the poem was made up from a collection of much earlier ballads. Modern ballads in form are imitations of the old English ballad. Here is a sample of the ballad stanza: "They took a plough and plough'd him down (a) Put clods upon his head; (b) And they had sworn a solemn oath (c)

John Barleycorn was dead." (b) (Robert Burns) In some of the variants of the ballad stanza the rhyming scheme is abab, that is the stanza becomes a typical quatrain. 5) One of the most popular stanzas, which bears the name of stanza only conventionally, is the sonnet. This is not a part of a larger unit, it is a complete independent work of a definite literary genre. However, by tradition and also due to its strict structural design this literary genre is called a stanza. The English sonnet is composed of fourteen iambic pentameters with the following rhyming scheme: ababcdcdefefgg, that is three quatrains with cross rhymes and a couplet at the end. The English sonnet was borrowed from Italian poetry, but on English soil it underwent structural and sometimes certain semantic changes. The Italian sonnet was composed of two quatrains with a framing rhyme abba. These two quatrains formed the octave. It was followed by a sestette, i.e., six lines divided into two tercets, i.e. three line units with cde rhyming in each, or variants, namely, cdcdcd or cdedce and others. The semantic aspect of the Italian sonnet was also strictly regularized. The first quatrain of the octave was to lay the main idea before the reader; the second quatrain was to expand the idea of the first quatrain by giving details or illustrations or proofs. So the octave had not only a structural but also a semantic pattern: the eight lines were to express one idea, a thesis. The same applies to the sestette. The first three lines were to give an idea opposite to the one expressed in the octave, a kind of antithesis, and the last three lines to be a synthesis of the ideas expressed in the octave and the first tercet. This synthesis was often expressed in the last two lines of the sonnet and these two lines therefore were called epigrammatic lines. The English, often called the Shakespearean sonnet has retained many of the features of its Italian parent. The division into octave and sestette is observed in many sonnets, although the sestette is not always divided into two tercets. The rhyming scheme is simplified and is now expressed by the formula ababcdcdefefgg given above. The most clearly observable characteristic feature of the sonnet on the content plane is the epigram-like last line (or last two lines). Sonnets were very popular in England during the sixteenth century. Wyatt, Surrey, Sidney and many other English poets of this period indulged in writing sonnets, and it is significant that during this period an enormous number were

written. Wyatt adhered strictly to the Italian model. Surrey modified it and it was this modification that Shakespeare used. The Shakespearean sonnets, which are known all over the world, are a masterpiece of sonnet composition. All 154 sonnets express the feelings of the poet towards his beloved, his friend and his patron. Even those sonnets, the main idea of which is by no means limited to the lyrical laying out of the feelings of the poet (as Sonnets Nos. 66, 21 and others), still pay tribute to the conventional form of the sonnet by mentioning the object of the poet's feelings. The types of English stanzas enumerated in no way exhaust the variety of this macro-unit in the rhythmical arrangement of the utterance. The number of types of stanzas is practically unlimited. We have chosen only those, which have won wide recognition and are taken up by many poets as a convenient mould into which new content may be poured. But there are many interesting models, which still remain unique and therefore cannot yet be systematized. Free Verse and Accented Verse Verse remains classical if it retains its metrical scheme. There are however types of verse which are not classical. The one most popular is what is called "verse libre", which is the French term for free verse. Free verse departs considerably from the strict requirements of classical verse, but its departures are legalized. Free verse is recognized by lack of strictness in its rhythmical design. The term "free verse" is used rather loosely by different writers; so much so that what is known as accented or stressed verse is also sometimes included. Here we shall use the term free verse to refer only to those varieties of verse which are characterized by: 1) a combination of various metrical feet in the line; 2) absence of equilinearity and 3) stanzas of varying length. Rhyme, however, is generally retained. Hence the term free verse is limited in this work to verse in which there is a more or less regular combination of different metrical feet, different lengths of lines and different lengths of stanzas. A good illustration of free verse in our sense of the term is Shelley's poem "The Cloud." "I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder." Here the odd lines are tetrameters in which there are combinations of iambic and anapaestic metres. The even lines are either dimeters or trimeters of iambic and anapaestic metre. So the metre is not homogeneous with in the lines; the lines are of different lengths and the stanzas have different numbers of lines: the first one has twelve lines, the second eighteen, the third fourteen. The remaining stanzas also vary in length. The number of syllables in each line also varies. The first line has nine syllables, the second - six, the third - nine, the fourth - five, the fifth eleven, the sixth - six, the seventh - nine, the eighth - seven, the ninth - nine, the tenth - eight, the eleventh - ten, the twelfth - eight. Yet in this irregularity there is a certain regularity. First of all there is a regular alternation of long and short lines; there is a definite combination of only two feet: iambic and anapaestic; there is a definite rhyming scheme: the long lines have internal rhyme, the short ones rhyme with each other. These regularities are maintained throughout the poem. And that is why we say that in spite of an appreciable departure from classical principles it remains to a large extent syllabotonic verse. The regularities we have pointed out prevent us from naming the instances of departure from the classic model modifications since they have a definite structural pattern. Modifications of the rhythm are accidental, not regular. Free verse is not of course confined to the pattern just described. There may not be any two poems written in free verse, which will have the same structural pattern. This underlying freedom makes verse more flexible, less rigid and more lively. The departure from strict metrical rules is sometimes considered a sign of progressiveness in verse, a rather erroneous notion. Classical English verse, free verse and the accented verse which we are about to discuss all enjoy equal rights from the aesthetic point of view and none of these types of verse has any privilege over the others. Accented verse is a type of verse in which only the number of stresses in the line is taken into consideration. The number of syllables is not a constituent; it is

irrelevant and therefore disregarded. Accented verse is not syllabo-tonic but only tonic. In its extreme form the lines have no pattern of regular metrical feet nor fixed length, there is no notion of stanza, and there are no rhymes. Like free verse, accented verse has very many variants, some approaching free verse and some departing so far from any recognized rhythmical pattern that we can hardly observe the essential features of this mode of communication. For the sake of illustration we shall quote two poems representing the two extremes of accented verse. 1. "With fingers weary and worn; With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread, Stitch! Stitch! Stitch! In poverty, hunger and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt." Work! Work! Work! While the clock is crowing aloof! And work - work - work Till the stars shine through the roof! It's O! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work! Work - work - work - ! Till the brain begins to swim! Work - work - work Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam,Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream." (Thomas Hood) Even a superfluous analysis of the rhythmical structure of this poem clearly shows that the rhythm is founded on stress only. In the first line there are seven syllables and three stresses; the second has the same; but the third has ten syllables and four stresses; the fourth - seven and three; the fifth-three and three; and so on.

But still we can find a regularity in the poem; for most of the lines have three stresses. At more or less regular intervals there appear longer lines with four stresses. Since the unstressed syllables are not taken into consideration, and therefore there are no secondary or tertiary stresses (as in classic verse), the stresses in accented verse are very heavy. The stanzas in this poem are all built on the same pattern: eight lines, each containing two four-stressed lines. The lines are rhymed alternately. All this makes this verse half accented, half free. In other words, this is borderline verse, the bias being in the direction of accented verse. This is not the case with the following poem by Walt Whitman: "Crossing Brooklin Ferry." "Now I am curious what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my masthemm'd Manhattan, My river and sunset and my scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide, The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter; Curious what gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, And with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my highest name as I approach;" This type of poetry can hardly be called verse from a purely structural point of view; it is that kind of tonic verse which, by neglecting almost all the laws of verse building, has gradually run into prose. But somehow there is still something left of the structural aspect of verse and this is the singling-out of each meaningful word making it conspicuous and self-determinative by the pauses and by the character of the junctures which precede and follow each of these words. Besides this, what makes this text poetry is also the selection of words, the peculiar syntactical patterns, and the imagery. Verse cannot do away with its formal aspects and remain verse. Therefore, the extreme type of accented verse, just given, ceases to be verse, as such. It has become what is sometimes called poetic prose. Accented verse is nothing but an orderly singling-out of certain words and syntagms in the utterance by means of intonation. This singling-out becomes a constituent of this type of verse, provided that the distance between each of the component parts presents a more or less constant unit. Violation of this principle would lead to the complete destruction of the verse as such. Accented verse (tonic verse) has a long folklore tradition. Old English verse was tonic but not syllabo-tonic. The latter appeared in English poetry as a borrowing from Greek and Latin poetry, where the alternation was not between

stressed and unstressed but between long and short syllables. In the process of being adapted to the peculiarities of the phonetic and morphological system of the English language, syllabo-tonic verse has undergone considerable changes and accented verse may therefore conventionally be regarded as a stage in the transformational process of adapting the syllabo-tonic system to the organic norms of modern colloquial English. This is justified by the fact that present-day accented verse is not a mere revival of the Old English poetical system but a newly arranged form and type of English verse. Naturally, however, folklore traditions have influenced modern accented verse in a number of ways. b) Lexical and Syntactical Features of Verse The phonetic features of the language of poetry constitute what we have called its external aspect. These features immediately strike the ear and the eye and therefore are easily discernible; but the characteristics of this substyle are by no means confined to these external features. Lexical and syntactical peculiarities, together with those just analysed, will present the substyle as a stylistic entity. These properties and features of poetry assume a compressed form: they are rich in associative power, they are frequent in occurrence, they (particularly imagery) become part and parcel of the substyle because they are the media through, which the idea and feeling are conveyed to the reader. That is why they may be called internal features. The image, as a purely linguistic notion, is something that must be decoded by the reader. So are the subtle inner relations between the parts of an utterance and between the utterances themselves. These relations are not so easily discernible as they are in logically arranged utterances. Instances of detached construction, asyndeton, etc. must also be interpreted. An image can be decoded through a fine analysis of the meanings of the given word or word combination. In decoding a given image, the dictionary meanings, the contextual meanings, the emotional colouring and, last but not least, the associations, which are awakened by the image should all be used. The easier the images are decoded, the more intelligible the poetic utterance becomes to the reader. If the image is difficult to decode, then it follows that either the ideas are not quite clear to the poet himself or the acquired experience of the reader is not sufficient to grasp the vague or remote associations hidden in the given image. Ivan Fonagy, a Hungarian linguist, says: "Interpreters of certain lines written by Mallarme often differ a great deal in their explanations. 'It must be acknowledged, writes Guy Michaud on Mallarme's poetry, that despite

their sharp wit, commentators are still very far from being able to provide a satisfactory explanation for poems written in the "latest style" (derniere maniere)." Images from a linguistic point of view are mostly built on metaphors, metonymy and simile. These are direct semantic ways of coining images. Images may be divided into three categories: two concrete (visual, aural), and one abstract (relational). Visual images are the easiest of perception, inasmuch as they are readily caught by what is called the mental eye. In other words, visual images are shaped through concrete pictures of objects, the impression of which is present in our mind. Thus in: "... and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth..." (Shakespeare) the simile has called up a visual image, that of a lark rising. Onomatopoeia will build an aural image in our mind, that is, it will make us hear the actual sounds of nature or things (See, for example: "How the water comes down at Ladore"). A relational image is one that shows the relation between objects through another kind of relation, and the two kinds of relations will secure a more exact realization of the inner connections between things or phenomena. This in: "Men of England, Heirs of Glory, Heroes of unwritten story. Nurslings of one mighty mother, Hopes of her, and one another." (Shelley) Such notions as 'heirs of glory', 'heroes of unwritten story', 'nurslings of ... mother', 'hopes of her...' all create relational images, inasmuch as they aim at showing the relations between the constituents of the metaphors but not the actual (visual) images of, in this case, 'heir', 'hero', 'nursling', 'hope'. A striking instance of building up an image by means other than metaphor, metonymy and simile is to be seen in the following passage of emotive prose from "The Man of Property." Galsworthy has created in this particular case an atmosphere of extreme tension at a dinner table. This is only part of the passage. "Dinner began in silence; the women facing one another, and the men. In silence the soup was finished excellent, if a little thick; and fish was brought. In silence it was handed. Bosinney ventured: "It's the first spring day." Irene echoed softly: "Yes - the first spring day." "Spring!" said June: "There isn't a breath of air!" No one replied. The fish was taken away, a fine fresh sole from Dover. And Bilson brought champagne, a bottle

swathed around the neck with white. Soames said: "You'll find it dry." Cutlets were handed, each pink-frilled about the legs. They were refused by June, and silence fell." The first thing that strikes the close observer is the insistent repetition of words, constructions, phrases. The word 'silence' is repeated four times in a short stretch of text. The idea of silence by means of synonymous expressions is repeated: 'There was a lengthy pause', 'no one replied' ('answered') is repeated several times. A long silence followed! Then the passive constructions ('fish was brought', 'it was handed', 'the fish was taken away', 'cutlets were handed', 'They were refused', 'they were borne away', 'chicken was removed', 'sugar was handed her', 'the charlotte \vas removed', 'olives... caviare were placed', 'the olives were removed', 'a silver tray was brought', and so on) together with parallel construction and asyndeton depict in a few bald phrases the progress of the dinner, thus revealing the strained atmosphere of which all those present were aware. Another feature of the poetical substyle is its volume of emotional colouring. Here again the problem of quantity comes up. The emotional element is characteristic of the belles-lettres style in general. But poetry has it in full measure. This is to some extent due to the rhythmic foundation of verse, but more particularly to the great number of emotionally coloured words. True, the degree of emotiveness in works of belles-lettres depends also on the idiosyncrasy of the writer, on the content, and on the purport. But emotiveness remains an essential property of the style in general and it becomes more compressed and substantial in the poetic substyle. This feature of the poetic substyle has won formal expression in poetic words, which have been regarded as conventional symbols of poetic language. In the history of poetic language there are several important stages of development. At every stage the rhythmic and phonetic arrangement, which is the most characteristic feature of the substyle, remains its essence. As regards the vocabulary, it can be described as noticeably literary. The colloquial elements, though they have elbowed their way into poetry at some stages in its development, still remain essentially unimportant and, at certain periods, were quite alien to the style. But even common literary words become conspicuous in poetry because of the new significance they acquire in a poetic line. "Words completely colourless in a purely intellectual setting," writes S. Ullmann, "may suddenly disclose unexpected resources of expressiveness in emotive or poetic discourse. Poets may rejuvenate and revitilize faded images by tracing them back to their etymological roots. When T. S. Eliot says 'a thousand visions and revisions', 'revision' is

suddenly illuminated and becomes transparent." Poetry has long been regarded as "the domain of the few" and the choice of vocabulary has always been in accord with this motto. The words, their forms, and also certain syntactical patterns were chosen to meet the refined tastes of admirers of poetry. In the chapter on poetic words, we have pointed out the character of these words and the role they have played in preserving the so-called "purity" of poetic language. The struggle against the conventionalities of the poetic language found its expression in the famous "Preface to Lyrical Ballads" written by Wordsworth and Coleridge which undoubtedly bore some fruitful results in liberalizing poetic language. They tried to institute a reform in poetic diction, which would employ "a selection of language really used by men" as they put it in their Preface. However their protest against poetical words and phrases was doomed to failure. The transition from refined poetical language, select and polished, to a language of colloquial plainness with even ludicrous images and associations was too violent to be successful. Shelley and Byron saw the reactionary aspect of the "reform" and criticized the poetic language of the Lake poets, regarding many of the words they used as new "poeticisms." However the protest raised by Wordsworth and Coleridge reflected the growing dissatisfaction with the conventionalities of poetic diction. Some of the morphological categories of the English language, as for instance, the Present Continuous tense, the use of nouns as adjectives and other kinds of conversion had long been banned from poetical language. The Quarterly Review, a literary journal of the 19th century, blamed Keats for using new words coined by means of conversion. After the manifesto of Wordsworth and Coleridge the "democratization" of poetic language was accelerated. In Byron's "Beppo" and "Don Juan" we already find a great number of colloquial expressions and even slang and cant. But whenever Byron uses non-poetic words or expressions, he shows that he is well aware of their stylistic value. He does this either by footnotes or by making a comment in the text itself as, for example, such phrases as: "He was 'free to confess' - (whence comes this phrase? Is't English? No - t'is only parliamentary)" or: "......... to use a phrase By which such things are settled nowadays." But poetical language remains and will always remain a specific mode of communication differing from prose. This specific mode of communication uses specific means. The poetic words and phrases, peculiar syntactical arrangement, orderly phonetic and rhythmical patterns have long been the signals of poetic

language. But the most important of all is the power of the words used in poetry to express more than they usually signify in ordinary language. A. A. Potebnja expresses this idea in the following words: "What is called 'common' language can at best be only a technical language, because it presupposes a ready-made thought, but does not serve as a means of shaping the thought. It (the common) is essentially a prose language." The sequence of words in an utterance is hardly, if at all, predictable in poetry. 'Word-pairs', writes Ivan Fonagy, "often used together because of the pleasing, often rhyming combination of sounds, stand opposed to free combinations. For modern poetry they often tend to acquire a startingly new meaning through slight modification or appear in the shape of highly improbable combinations." Semantic entropy is therefore an inherent property of poetic language. But sometimes this entropy grows so large that it stuns and stupefies the reader, preventing him from decoding the message, or it makes him exert his mental powers to the utmost in order to discover the significance given by the poet to ordinary words. This is the case with some of the modern English and American poetry. Significant in this respect is the confession of Kenneth Allott, compiler of "The Penguin Book of Contemporary Verse," who in his introductory note on William Empson's poetry writes: "I have chosen poems I understand, or think I understand, and therefore can admire... There are some poems I cannot understand at all." Poetry of this kind will always remain "the domain of the few." Instead of poetic precision we find a deliberate plunge into semantic entropy, which renders the message incomprehensible. The increase of entropy in poetic language is mainly achieved by queer word combinations, fragmentary syntax - almost without logical connections. An illustrative example is part of T. S. Eliot's poem "The Love Song of Alfred Prufrock." "And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window panes; There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me,

And time vet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor And this, and so much more? It is impossible to say just what I mean!" The last sentence in the passage quoted discloses the fact that the poet's idea is not clearly shaped. Dissatisfaction with the hackneyed phrases reflecting the acknowledged routine of life; disappointment in the most common and long cherished evaluations of the phenomena of life, fatigue caused by the monotonous rhythm of the social environment of the poet - all these force him to seek the essence of things, new and only vaguely conceived relations between seemingly unconnected facts. And as a result there appear these strange disconnected combinations of words and phrases and new meanings of words. We have already pointed out that in the history of the development of the literary language, a prominent role was played by men-of-letters. There was a constant struggle between those who were dissatisfied with the established laws, which regulated the functioning of literary English and those who tried to restrain its progressive march. The same struggle is evident in the development of poetic language. In ascertaining the norms of the 19th century poetic language, a most significant part was played by Byron and Shelley. Byron mocked at the efforts of Wordsworth and the other Lake poets to reform poetical language. In his critical remarks in the polemic poem "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" and in his other works, he showed that the true progress of poetic language lies not in the denial of the previous stylistic norms but in the creative reshaping and recasting of the values of the past, their adaptation to the requirements of the present and a healthy continuity of long-established tradition. Language by its very nature will not tolerate sudden unexpected and quick changes. It is evolutionary in essence. Poetry likewise will revolt against forcible impositions of strange forms and will

either reject them or mould them in the furnace of recognized traditional patterns. Shelley in his preface to "The Chenchi" writes: "I have written more carelessly; that is, without an over-fastidious and learned choice of words. In this respect I entirely agree with those modern critics who assert that in order to move men to true sympathy we must use the familiar language of men, and that our great ancestors the ancient English poets are the writers, a study of whom might incite us to do that for our own age which they have done for theirs. But it must be the real language of men in general and not that of any particular class to whose society the writer happens to belong." In Shelley's works we find the materialization of these principles. Revolutionary content and the progress of science laid new demands on poetic diction and as a result scientific and political terms and imagery based on new scientific data, together with lively colloquial words, poured into poetic language. Syntax also underwent noticeable changes but hardly ever to the extent of making the utterance unintelligible. The liberalization of poetic language reflects the general struggle for a freer development of the literary language, in contrast to the rigorous restrictions imposed on it by the language law givers of the 18th century. In poetry words become more conspicuous, as if they were attired in some mysterious manner, and mean more than they mean in ordinary neutral communications. Words in poetic language live a longer life than ordinary words. They are intended to last. This is, of course, achieved mainly by the connections the words have with one another and to some extent, to the rhythmical design, which makes the words stand out in a more isolated manner so that they seem to possess a greater degree of independence and significance. EMOTIVE PROSE The substyle of emotive prose has the same common features as have been pointed out for the belles-lettres style, in general; but all these features are correlated differently in emotive prose. The imagery is not so rich as it is in poetry; the percentage of words with contextual meaning is not so high as in poetry; the idiosyncrasy of the author is not so clearly discernible. Apart from metre and rhyme, what most of all distinguishes emotive prose from the poetic style is the combination of the literary variant of the language, both in words and syntax, with the colloquial variant. It would perhaps be more exact to define this as a combination of the spoken and written varieties of the language, inasmuch as there

are always two forms of communication present - monologue (the writer's speech) and dialogue (the speech of the characters). The language of the writer conforms or is expected to conform to the literary norms of the given period in the development of the English literary language. The language of the hero of a novel, or of a story will in the main be chosen in order to characterize the man himself. True, this language is also subjected to some kind of reshaping. This is an indispensable requirement of any literary work. Those writers who neglect this requirement may unduly contaminate the literary language by flooding the speech of their characters with non-literary elements, thus over-doing the otherwise very advantageous device of depicting a hero through his speech. It follows then that the colloquial language in the belles-lettres style is not a pure and simple reproduction of what might be the natural speech of living people. It has undergone changes introduced by the writer. The colloquial speech has been made "literature-like." This means that only the most striking elements of what might have been a conversation in life are made use of, and even these have undergone some kind of transformation. Emotive prose allows the use of elements from other styles as well. Thus we find elements of the newspaper style (see, for example, Sinclair Lewis's "It Can't Happen Here"); the official style (see, for example, the business letters exchanged between two characters in Galsworthy's novel "The Man of Property"); the style of scientific prose (see excerpts from Cronin's "The Citadel" where medical language is used). But all these styles under the influence of emotive prose undergo a kind of transformation. A style that is made use of in prose, is diluted by the general features of the belles-lettres style, which subjects it to its own purposes. Passages written in other styles may be viewed only as interpolations and not as constituents of the style. Emotive prose as a separate form of imaginative literature, that is fiction, came into being rather late in the history of the English literary language. It is well known that in early Anglo-Saxon literature there was no emotive prose. AngloSaxon literature was mainly poetry, songs of a religious, military and festive character. The first emotive prose, which appeared was translations from Latin of stories from the Bible and the Lives of the Saints. Middle English prose literature was also educational, represented mostly by translations of religious works from Latin. In the llth and 12th centuries as a result of the Norman conquest, AngloSaxon literature fell into a decline. Almost all that was written was in French or in

Latin. In the 12th and 13th centuries however, there appeared the "Tales of King Arthur and his Round Table", some of which were written in verse and others in prose. They were imitations of French models. In the 14th century there was an event which played an important role not only in the development of general Standard English, but in the development of the peculiarities of emotive prose. This was the translation of the Bible made by Wyclif and his disciples. Emotive prose actually began to assume a life of its own in the second half of the 15th century when romances and chronicles describing the life and adventures of semilegendary kings and knights began to appear. One of the most notable of these romances was Malory's "Morte D'Arthur," printed by Caxton in 1471. It winds up a long series of poems and tales of chivalry begun in the 12th century. It was retold in prose from the French. "The Death of Arthur" is a work of great historical, literary and stylistic interest. Attempts were made to introduce dialogue into the texture of the author's narrative before this, but here dialogue becomes an organic part of the work. Dialogue within the author's narrative is a stylistic constituent of the substyle of emotive prose. True, Malory's dialogues were far from even resembling the natural features of living colloquial speech. The speech of the heroes lacks elliptical sentences, breaks in the narrative and other typical features of the spoken variety of English. Emotional colouring is not shown in the syntactical design of the sentences but in the author's remarks and descriptions. But nevertheless "Morte d'Arthur" must be counted as a historical landmark in establishing the principles of emotive prose. The introduction of dialogue means that the road to the more or less free use of colloquial language was already marked out. Further on, colloquial elements began to infiltrate into poetic diction as well. With the coming of the sixteenth century, which incidentally heralded a great advance in all spheres of English social life, English emotive prose progressed rapidly. Numerous translations from Latin and Greek played a great role in helping to work out stylistic norms for the emotive prose of that period. Translations from modern languages, of Italian and French romances in particular, also began to influence the stylistic norms of emotive prose. The necessity to find adequate language means to convey the ideas and the stylistic peculiarities of the text in the source language made the translators extend the scope of language resources already used in literature, thus enlarging the potentialities of stylistic devices and language means.

Sixteenth century professional literary men like Philip Sidney, John Lyiy, Robert Greene and others known as the "University Wits," alongside their interests in poetry and the dramatic art, did not neglect emotive prose. A special stylistic trend arose named after a literary work by Lyly entitled "Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit." The whole book is written in a high-flown, over-refined manner. There is a fine subtlety of expression combined with an unrestrained use of periphrasis. One can find allusions, parallel constructions, antithesis, similes and many other stylistic devices in such abundance that they pile up on one another or form long monotonous chains, the links of which are instances of a given stylistic device. Inasmuch as this literary work has had rather a notable effect on the subsequent development of emotive prose (Lyiy is called the pioneer of the English novel) it will not come amiss to give a sample of the prose of "Euphues": "The merchant that travaileth for gain, the husbandman that toileth for increase, the lawyer that pleadeth for gold, the craftsman that seeketh to live by his labour, all these, after they have fatted themselves with sufficient, either take their ease or less pain than they were accustomed. Hippomenes ceased to run when he had gotten the goal, Hercules to labour when he had obtained the victory, Mercury to pipe when he had cast Argus in a slumber. Every action hath his end; and then we leave to sweat when we have found' the sweet. The ant, though she toil in summer, yet in winter she leaveth to travail. The bee, though she delight to suck the fair flower, yet is she at last cloyed with honey. The spider that weaveth the finest thread ceaseth at the last, when she hath finished her web. But in the action and the study of the mind, gentlemen, it is far otherwise, for he that tasteth the sweet of his learning endureth all the sour of labour. Fie that seeketh the depth of knowledge is as it were in a labyrinth..." This passage shows the prolixity of what came to be called the euphuistic style with its illustrations built on semantic parallelism, the much favoured device of mythological allusions, the carefully chosen vocabulary and with its refinement and grace. Lyiy's aim was to write in a style that was distinct from colloquial speech and yet not poetry. He actually says that Englishmen wished "to hear a finer speech than the language will allow." Euphuism however is regarded as a reactionary trend in the development. The word 'style' is used here not in the terminological sense employed in this book, but in a more general, looser application. of emotive prose. It was orientated upon the language of the court and the nobility and barred all kinds of lively colloquial words and expressions. In general it is characterized by artificiality of manner.

Euphuism bred a liking for excessive embellishment, and this in its turn, called forth an unrestrained use of rhetorical devices unmotivated by the content and unjustified by the purport of the communication. But not all 16th century emotive prose was of this character. Walter Raleigh's writing was much simpler, both in vocabulary and syntax; it was less embellished and often colloquial. Roger Ascham, though an excellent classical scholar, chose to write "English matter in the English speech for English men." He writes in a plain, straightforward, clear manner with no attempt at elegance. Philip Sidney, though a poet, wrote prose that could be as clear as Ascham's. Even when his sentences are long, they do not lose their clarity. In contrast to Ascham he did not scorn ornament, but unlike Lyiy, he used it in moderation. The prose of Richard Hooker, who wrote on contraversial religious themes, is restrained and has power and balance. Hooker also had considerable influence on the development of English emotive prose. Euphuism however had merits in its time. It made men-of-letters look for finer, more elegant forms of expression and this search inevitably made them more formconscious - they learned to polish their language and, to some extent developed a feeling for prose rhythm. But at later periods euphuism became reactionary, inasmuch as it barred all kinds of lively colloquial words and expressions and hindered the process of liberating the belles-lettres style from rigid poetical restrictions. The "democratization" of the means of expression was incompatible with the aristocratic artificiality and prettiness of euphuism. A great influence on the further development of the characteristic features of the belles-lettres style was exercised by Shakespeare. Although he never wrote prose, except for a few insertions in some of his plays, he declared his poetical credo and his attitude towards all kinds of embellishments in language in some of his works.1 Also in his "Love's Labour Lost" Shakespeare condemns the embellishing tendencies of some of the poets. Here is a well-known quotation, which has long been used to characterize the pompous, showy manner of expression. "Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation: Figures pedantical; these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: I do forswear them..."

On the whole, the emotive prose of the 16th century had not yet shaped itself as a separate style. Verse and drama predominate among works of belles-lettres. The small amount of prose written, in particular emotive prose, can be ascribed to the general strong tendency to regard the spoken variety of the English language as inferior and therefore unworthy to be represented in belles-lettres. And without speech of characters there can be no true emotive prose. This perhaps explains the fact that most of the prose works of the period were histories, biographies, accounts of travels, essays on different philosophical and aesthetic problems. There were, of course, exceptions like Robert Greene's "Life and Death of Ned Browne" and Thomas Nash's "The Unfortunate Traveller, or The Life of Jack Wilton," the former being a story of crime and the latter an adventure story. These are precursors of the modern novel. The seventeenth century saw a considerable development in emotive prose and in prose as a whole. It was an epoch of great political and religious strife, and much that was written had a publicistic aim. The decline in drama due to the closing of the theatres by the Puritans in 1648 may also have had its effect in stimulating the development of emotive prose. The two contrary tendencies in the use of language means, so striking in the 16th century, assume new forms in the 17th. There was first of all the continuation of the classical tradition, and secondly there was the less scholarly, but more English prose that had been employed by the forty-seven translators of the "Authorized Version" of the Bible. As is known, during the 16th century the English literary language had received large additions from classical Greek and Latin and also from modern French and Italian. Some writers considered it good style to introduce not only lexical but also syntactical innovations: sentences were often built according to classical patterns. Burton, Browne and others constructed long passages following Latin models. One of the 17th century writers states: "Many think that they can never speak elegantly, nor write significantly, except they do it in a language of their own devising; as if they were ashamed of their mother tongue, and thought it not sufficiently curious to express their fancies. By means where of, more French and Latin words have gained ground upon us since the middle of Queen Elisabeth's reign than were admitted by our ancestors..." The two tendencies were combined in the prose works of Milton who, being a Puritan, recognized the Bible as the highest authority in all matters, but who had a deep knowledge of the ancient classics as well.

The influence of the Bible on English emotive prose is particularly striking in the works of John Bunyan. "The Pilgrim's Progress" represents a new trend in the development of emotive prose. Here is an excerpt from the work: "Now Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence; so when he was gone to bed, he told his wife what he had done, to wit, that he had taken a couple of prisoners and cast them into his dungeon, for trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her also what he had best to do further to them. So she asked what they were, whence they came, and whither they were bound, and he told her. Then she counseled him, that when he arose in the morning he should beat them without mercy. ...The next night she talked with her husband about them further, and understanding that they were yet alive, did advise him to counsel them to make away with themselves. So when morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner, as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes that he had given them the day before, he told them that since they were never like to come out of that place, their only way would be forthwith to make an end of themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison: for why, said he, should you choose life, seeing it is attended with so much bitterness? But they desired him to let them go. ...Then did the prisoners consult between themselves, whether it was best to take his counsel or no; and thus they began to discourse: - Chr. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we now live is miserable. For my part, I know not whether it is best to live thus, or die out of hand. My soul chooseth strangling rather than life, and the grave is more easy for me than this dungeon! Shall we be ruled by the giant? Hope. Indeed our present condition is dreadful, ...Well, towards the evening the giant goes down into the dungeon again, to see if his prisoners had taken his counsel;..." In this excerpt the main peculiarities of the style of emotive prose of the puritan trend stand out clearly. Simplicity in choice of words and in syntax is the predominant feature of the language of this type of emotive prose. The speech of the characters is mainly shaped in the form of indirect discourse. When direct speech appears, it is arranged as in a play, that is, the speaker is indicated by giving his full name or its contracted form at the beginning of a line. The name is not syntactically connected with the character's utterance. It is interesting to note in passing, that the yet unestablished norms of emotive prose are reflected in a combination of the syntactical arrangement of a play and that of emotive prose, as for example in this passage where the name of the speaker precedes the utterance as in plays, and the

same name is mentioned within the direct speech as if it were introduced by the writer. So there is a kind of mixture of two substyles, emotive prose and drama. However, when incursions of direct speech are short, they are given within the author's narrative, for example, "...their only way would be forthwith to make an end of themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison: for why, said he, should you choose life, seeing it is attended with so much bitterness? But they desired him to let them go ..." Another peculiarity of the prose of this period is a rather poorly developed system of connectives. The connectives and, so that, then are used abundantly and often in a way that does not comply with their generally accepted functions. Bunyan's works have played a considerable role in establishing the most characteristic features of emotive prose. Imagery, so characteristic of the belleslettres style in general, begins to colour emotive prose differently from the way used in poetry and plays of the non-puritan trend. The imagery in the "Pilgrim's Progress" is based on allegory. Allegory is akin to metaphor, but it differs from the latter by having a definite symbolic meaning. Allegory in its most common form is a variety of antonomasia. Words denoting abstract notions are used as proper names. So, in the passage quoted above the name of the giant is 'Despair', his wife's name - 'Diffidence', the name of the Castle is 'Doubting Castle', the names of the pilgrims are 'Christian' and 'Hopeful.' This type of imagery has considerable tenacity in emotive prose and particularly in plays. Tell-tale names for characters are still widely used and should be evaluated as a variety of antonomasia. The puritan influence on the language of emotive prose at this time displays what may be called an anti-renaissance spirit. This is shown in the disparagement of mythological imagery and any embellishment of language whatever. Bunyan's abstract way of treating ordinary everyday-life events and conflicts led to an abstract manner in depicting his characters. They are, as a rule, devoid of individuality. There is no typification of a character's speech, and therefore there is practically no difference between the language of the author and that of the heroes. A tendency to simplify the literary language, resulting from the derogatory attitude of the puritans to classical learning, is apparent in seventeenth century emotive prose, at least among some writers. However, the language of emotive prose in this period, as in the preceding and subsequent periods, did not progress in one line. The classical tradition and the over-use of embellishments were also alive, and can be seen at any period in the

development of the English literary language, and of emotive prose in particular, in a greater or lesser degree right until the beginning of the 20th century. The struggle between the two opposing tendencies in rendering ideas in the style of emotive prose reflects the political and religious strife between the Puritans and the Cavaliers, who were on the side of Charles I against the Puritan Party during the Civil War of 1642-1652. Among representatives of the "Cavalier" trend in literature we shall mention Jeremy Taylor, whose works, mainly sermons, are illustrative of this ornamental manner. "...he strongly resembles Spenser in his prolific fancy and diction, in a certain musical arrangement and sweetness of expression, in prolonged description, and in delicious musings and reveries, suggested by some favourite image or metaphor, on which he dwells with the fondness and enthusiasm of a young poet. In these passages he is also apt to run into excess; epithet is heaped upon epithet, and figure upon figure; all the quaint conceits of his fancy, and the curious stores of his learning are dragged in, till both precision and propriety are sometimes lost." There was also a third trend in emotive prose, which began to develop in the 17th century and which became more apparent in subsequent periods. Representative of this trend are Thomas Sprat, and in particular John Dryden. This trend is responsible for the introduction into writing of common words and phrases known as colloquialisms. True, in 17th century emotive prose these elements were yet few. But this third trend, as it were, broke the ice and a trickle of colloquial words began to flow into emotive prose. Thomas Sprat raised his voice against luxury and redundance of speech. He beheld "with indignation how many mists and uncertainties these specious tropes and figures have brought on our knowledge." He was all for a "close, naked, natural way of speaking, positive expressions, clear senses, a native easiness." He preferred "the language of artisans, countrymen and merchants before that of wits and scholars." The models of prose writing at Dryden's disposal were the colloquial manner of Bunyan and similar writers on the one hand and, on the other, the elaborate manner of Lyiy, Sidney, Browse, Jeremy Taylor and others. Dryden retained the simple diction, and disciplined the loose everyday expressions of the former, he cut off the awkward Latinisms and long-winded elegance of the latter. The features of Dryden's prose are clarity, simplicity of sentence structure, lack of ornament, fluency and rhythm. The influence of Dryden on both emotive prose and publicistic

prose, which began to develop rapidly in the 18th century, was felt throughout the century. Dryden has been called the father of English literary criticism. After the Restoration of the Monarchy in 1660 a new trend arose in literature, which was also reflected in prose. The critical spirit was more and more taking the place of the imaginative. Emotive prose was becoming a weapon of satire and not simply a means of describing and interpreting the life of the day. This trend, materialized mainly in essays, was outstanding in the prose works of Dryden (his "Essay on Dramatic Poesy" in particular) and continued into the 18th century, where it became conspicuous. Eighteenth century emotive prose when compared to that of the seventeenth is in its most essential, leading features, characterized by the predominance of the third trend. This third trend, which may justly be called realistic, is not the further development of the puritan tendencies described above, although, doubtless, these tendencies bore some relevance to its typical features. The motto, of this trend may be expressed by the phrase "call a spade a spade." By this phrase the adherents of the realistic trend in literature, and in emotive prose in particular, expressed the idea that all things should be called by their right names, that the writers should use plain, blunt words. This was a kind of protest against the complicated and elaborate periphrases by which the most common concepts were often described. The history of English literature gives their due to such prominent men-of-letters as Defoe, Swift and Fielding who were ardent apologists of this direction in prose writing, and who created fascinating novels, most of which are still reckoned among the masterpieces of English literature. The aim of this new school of writers was to make the language clear, precise, well-balanced, and moderate. They developed a manner of writing, which by its strength, simplicity, and directness, was admirably adapted to ordinary every-day needs. The writers of the 18th century did much to establish emotive prose as an independent form of literary art. Of course the general philosophical and aesthetic views dominating in this period greatly influenced the manner of writing. Eighteenth century men-of-letters considered that, being educated representatives of their society, it was their duty to safeguard the purity of the English language. However the principles they followed were obscure and even contradictory. On the one hand, some of them, like Johnson, were against the introduction into literary English of any colloquial elements, regarding the latter as being inferior to the polished language of educated people. On the other hand, many others felt an urgent necessity to bridge the gap between literary and

colloquial modes of expression in order to achieve a greater vividness and flexibility of utterance. Therefore, though using the general language of this period, at the same time they sought to subject it to conventional stylistic norms. These stylistic norms were very rigid. So much so, that the individual peculiarities of the authors were frequently over-weighed by the general requirement of the stylistic norms. These norms are revealed in the leveling-off of the differences between the literary language and the spoken language of the time. The author's speech and that of the heroes resemble each other, so there is no speech characterization. All the characters speak alike and almost in the same way as the author himself does. Another stylistic feature of the emotive prose of the 18th century is a peculiar manner of conveying the impression that the event narrated actually occurred, that the narrative possessed authenticity. This manner of writing imparts some of the features of official documents to emotive prose. Some of the works of emotive prose therefore, with their wealth of detail and what seems to be genuine fact, resemble chronicles. When the narrative is written in the first person singular, as it very often is, it reads almost like a diary. The narrative itself is generally impassionate, devoid of any emotional elements, with strict observance of syntactical rules governing the structure of the sentences. In such works there are very few epithets, almost no imagery. Such are most of the novels by Defoe, Swift, Fielding and others. Illustrative in this respect are the works of Defoe. He really deserves the title of the originator of the "authenticated" manner in emotive prose. His novel "Robinson Crusoe" is written in a language, which by its lexical and syntactical peculiarities has very much in common with the style of an official report. Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, whose essays were written for the journals "The Tatler" and "The Spectator" also followed the general stylistic principles of this period. The most striking feature, of course, is the inadequate representation of direct speech. The most lively conversations (dialogues) are generally rendered in indirect speech and only fragments of lively direct intercourse can be found in long passages of the narrative. These are mostly exclamatory sentences, like "Sir Cloudesley Shovel! A very gallant man!" or "Dr. Busby! A great man! He whipped my grandfather; a very great man!" The 18th century is justly regarded as the century, which formed emotive prose as a selfsufficient branch of the belles-lettres style. But still, the manner in which emotive prose used language means and stylistic devices in some cases still resembled the

manner of poetic style. At this time also it was difficult to tell a piece of emotive prose from an essay or even from scientific prose. This was mainly due to the fact that the most essential and characteristic features of these styles were not yet fully shaped. It was only by the end of the 18th century that the most typical features of the emotive prose style became really prominent. Laurence Sterne with his "Tristram Shandy" contributed greatly to this process. Sterne thought that the main task of emotive prose was "...to depict the inner world of man, his ever-changing moods. Therefore, at the foundation of his novel lies the emotional and not the logical principle." With Sterne, emotive prose began to use a number of stylistic devices which practically determined many of its characteristic features. In Tristram Shandy there appear rudimentary forms of represented speech; the speech of the heroes approaches the norms of lively colloquial language; the narrative itself, begins to reflect the individuality of the author, not only in his world outlook but, which is very important for linguistic analysis, in his manner of using the language means of his time. He attempts to give speech characteristics to his heroes, uses the different stylistic strata of the English vocabulary widely both in the individual speech of his characters and in the language of the author himself. The role of Sterne in the shaping of the typical features of emotive prose of the following centuries is underestimated. He was the first to make an attempt to overcome the traditional form of the then fashionable narrative in depicting characters, events, social life and human conflicts. It was necessary to enliven the dialogue and it was Laurence Sterne who was able to do so. The great realistic writers of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries to some extent followed in his footsteps. Nineteenth century emotive prose can already be regarded as a substyle of belles-lettres, complete in its most fundamental properties as they are described at the beginning of this chapter. The general tendency in English literature to depict the life of all strata of English society called forth changes in regard to the language used for this purpose. Standard English begins to actively absorb elements of the English vocabulary which were banned in earlier periods from the language of emotive prose, that is jargonisms, professional words, slang, dialectal words and even vulgarisms, though the latter were used sparingly and euphemistically - damn was printed d-; bloody-b-and the like. 2 Illiterate speech finds its expression in emotive prose by distorting the spelling of words, by using cockney and dialectal words; there appears a clear difference between the speech of

the writer and that of his characters. A new feature begins to establish itself as a property of emotive prose alone, namely, what may be called multiplicity of style. Language means typical of other styles of literary language are drawn into the system of expressive means and stylistic devices of this particular substyle. It has already been pointed out that these insertions do not remain in their typical form, they are recast to comply with the essential principles of emotive prose. Here is an example of a newspaper brief found in Thackeray's "Vanity Fair": "Governorship of Coventry Island.- H. M. S. Yellowjack, Commander Jaunders, has brought letters and papers from Coventry Island. H. E. Sir Thomas Liverseege had fallen a victim to the prevailing fever at Swampton. His loss is deeply felt in the flourishing colony. We hear that the governorship has been offered to Colonel Rawdon Crawley, C. B., a distinguished Waterloo officer. We need not only men of acknowledged bravery, but men of administrative talents to superintend the affairs of our colonies; and we have no doubt that the gentleman selected by the Colonial Office to fill the lamented vacancy which has occurred at Coventry Island is admirably calculated for the post which he is about to occupy." By the end of the nineteenth century and particularly at the beginning of the twentieth, certain stylistic devices had been refined and continue to be further developed and perfected. Among these must be mentioned represented speech, both uttered and unuttered or inner, and also various ways of using detached construction, which is particularly favoured by present-day men-of-letters. Syntax too has undergone modifications in the emotive prose of the last century and a half. Present-day emotive prose is to a large extent characterized by the breaking-up of traditional syntactical designs of the preceding periods. Not only detached construction, but also fragmentation of syntactical models, peculiar, unexpected ways of combining sentences, especially the gap-sentence link and other modern syntactical patterns, are freely introduced into present-day emotive prose. Its advance is so rapid that it is only possible to view it in the gross. Many interesting investigations have been made of the characteristic features of the language of different writers where what is typical and what is idiosyncratic are subjected to analysis. But so far no deductions have been made as to the general trends of emotive prose of the nineteenth century, to say nothing of the twentieth. This work awaits investigators who may be able to draw up some general principles distinguishing modern emotive prose from the emotive prose of the preceding periods.

LANGUAGE OF THE DRAMA The third subdivision of the belles-lettres style is the language of plays. The first thing to be said about the parameters of this variety of belles-lettres is that unlike poetry, which, except for ballads, in essence excludes direct speech and therefore dialogue, and unlike emotive prose, which is a combination of monologue (the author's speech) and dialogue (the speech of the characters), the language of plays is entirely dialogue. The author's speech is almost entirely excluded except for the playwright's remarks and stage directions, significant though they may be. But the language of the characters is in no way the exact reproduction of the norms of colloquial language, although the playwright seeks to reproduce actual conversation as far as the norms of the written language will allow. Any variety of the belles-lettres style will use the norms of the literary language of the given period. True, in every variety there will be found, as we have already shown, departures from the established literary norms. But in genuinely artistic work these departures will never go beyond the boundaries of the permissible fluctuations of the norms, lest the aesthetic aspect of the work should be lost. It follows then that the language of plays is always stylized, that is, it strives to retain the modus of literary English, unless the playwright has a particular aim, which requires the use of non-literary forms and expressions. However, even in this case a good playwright will use such forms sparingly. Thus in Bernard Shaw's play "Fanny's First Play," Dora, a street-girl, whose language reveals her upbringing, her lack of education, her way of living, her tastes and aspirations, nevertheless uses comparatively few non-literary words. A bunk, a squiffer, are examples. Even these are explained with the help of some literary device. This is due to the stylization of the language. The stylization of colloquial language is one of the features of plays which at different stages in the history of English drama has manifested itself in different ways, revealing on the one hand the general trends of the literary language, and on the other hand the personal indiosyncrasies of the writer. In the 16th century the stylization of colloquial language was scarcely maintained due to several facts: plays were written in haste for the companies of actors eagerly waiting for them, and they were written for a wide audience, mostly the common people. As is known, plays were staged in public squares on a raised platform almost without stage properties.

The colloquial language of the 16th century therefore enjoyed an almost unrestrained freedom and this partly found its expression in the lively dialogue of plays. The general trends in the developing literary language were also reflected in the wide use of biblical and mythological allusions, evocative of Renaissance traditions as well as in the abundant use of compound epithets, which can also be ascribed to the influence of the great Greek and Latin epics. Generally speaking, the influence of Renaissance traditions can also be seen in a fairly rich injection of oaths, curses, swear words and other vulgarisms into the language texture of the English drama of this period. In order to check the unlimited use of oaths and curses in plays, an act of Parliament was passed in 1603, which forbade the profane and jesting use of the names of God, Christ, the Holy Ghost and the Trinity in any stage play or performance. The 16th century plays are mostly written in iambic pentameter, rhymed or unrhymed. The plays of this period therefore were justly called dramatic poetry. The staged performance, the dialogue character of the discourse and the then obvious tendency to keep close to the norms of colloquial language affected the verse and resulted in breaking the regular rhythm of the metre. This breaking of the regularity and strictness of the rhythmical design became one of the characteristic features of the language of dramatic poetry, and the language of plays of the earlier writers, who employed a strict rhythmic pattern without run-on lines (enjambment) or other rhythmical modifications, is considered tedious and monotonous. Thus one of the most notable plays of this period "The Love of King David and Fair Bethsabe" by George Peele, in spite of its smooth musical versification, is regarded as lacking variety. True, "...the art of varying the pauses and modulating the verse without the aid of rhyme had not yet been generally adopted." But the great playwrights of this period, forced by the situation in which the communicative process takes place - on a stage facing an audience -, realized the necessity of modulating the rhythmical pattern of blank verse. Marlowe, Greene, Nash, Shakespeare and Ben Jonson modulated their verse to a greater or lesser degree. Marlowe, for instance, found blank verse consisting of lines each ending with a stressed monosyllable, and each line standing by itself rather monotonous. He modified the pauses, changed the stresses and made the metre suit the sense instead of making the sense fit the metre as his predecessors had done. He even went further and introduced passages of prose into the texture of his plays, thus aiming at an elevation of the utterance. His "Life and Death of Dr. Faustus" abounds in passages, which can hardly be classed as verse. Compare, for

example, the following two passages from this play: FAUST: Oh, if my soul must suffer for my sin, impose some end to my incessant pain. Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years, A hundred thousand, and at the last be saved: No end is limited to damned souls. FAUST: But Faustus's offence can ne'er be pardoned. The serpent that tempted Eve may be saved, but not Faustus. Oh, gentlemen, hear me with patience, and tremble not at my speeches. Though my heart pant and quiver to remember that I have been a student here these thirty years, Oh, would I had ne'er seen Wirtemberg, never read book! And what wonders have I done, all Germany can witness, yes, all the world: for which Faustus hath lost both Germany and the world; ... It is unnecessary to point out the rhythmical difference between these two passages. The iambic pentameter of the first and non-rhythmical prose of the second are quite apparent. Shakespeare also used prose as a stylistic device. The prose passages in Shakespeare's plays are well known to any student of Elizabethan drama. Shakespeare used prose in passages of repartee between minor characters, particularly in his comedies; in "The Taming of the Shrew," and "Twelfth Night" for instance, and, also in the historical plays "Henry IV" (Part I, Part II) and "Henry V." In some places there are prose monologues bearing the characteristic features of rhythmical prose with its parallel constructions, repetitions, etc. As an example we may take Falstaff's monologue addressed to the young Prince Henry in "Henry IV" (Part I, Act II, Sc. 4). On the other hand, prose conversation between tragic characters retains much of the syllabic quality of blank verse, e.g., the conversation between Polonius and Hamlet ("Hamlet." Act II, Sc. 2). A popular form of entertainment at the courts of Elizabeth and the Stuarts was the masque. The origin of the court masque must have been the performances presented at the court on celebrated occasions, as a coronation, a peer's marriage, the birth of a prince and similar events. These performances were short sketches with allusions to Greek and Latin mythology, allegoric in nature, frequently accompanied by song and music and performed by the nobility. These masques are believed to be the earliest forms of what is now known as "spoken drama." The reference to the events of the day and allegoric representation of the members of the nobility called forth the use of words and phrases alien to poetic diction and passages of prose began to flood into the text of the plays. But the drama of the

seventeenth century still holds fast to poetic diction and up to the decline of the theatre which was caused by the Puritan Government Act of 1642, a spoken drama as we know it to-day had not seen the stage. The revival of drama began only in the second half of the 18th century. But the ultimate shaping of the play as an independent form of literary work with its own laws of functioning, with its own characteristic language features was actually completed only at the end of the 19th century. The natural conventionality of any literary work is most obvious in plays. People are made to talk to each other in front of an audience, and yet as if there were no audience. Dialogue, which as has been pointed out, is by its very nature ephemeral, spontaneous, fleeting, is made lasting. It is intended to be reproduced many times by different actors with different interpretations. The dialogue loses its colloquial essence and remains simply conversation in form. The individualization of each character's speech then becomes of paramount importance because it is the idiosyncrasy of expression, which to some extent reveals the inner, psychological and intellectual traits of the characters. The playwright seeks to approximate a natural form of dialogue, a form as close to natural living dialogue as the literary norms will allow. But at the same time he is bound by the aesthetico-cognitive function of the belles-lettres style and has to mould the conversation to suit the general aims of this style. Thus the language of plays is a stylized type of the spoken variety of language. What then is this process of stylization that the language of plays undergoes? In what language peculiarities is the stylization revealed? The analysis of the language texture of plays has shown that the most characteristic feature here is - to use the term of the theory of information redundancy of information caused by the necessity to amplify the utterance. This is done for the sake of the audience. It has already been pointed out that the spoken language tends to curtail utterances, sometimes simplifying the syntax to fragments of sentences without even showing the character of their interrelation. In plays the curtailment of utterances is not so extensive as it is in natural dialogue. Besides, in lively conversation even when a prolonged utterance, a monologue, takes place, it is interspersed with the interlocutor's "signals of attention", as they may be called, for example: yes, yeah, oh. That's right, so, I see, good, yes I know, oh-oh, fine, Oh, my goodness, oh dear, well, well-well, Well, I never, and the like. In plays these "signals of attention" are irrelevant and

therefore done away with. The monologue in plays is never interrupted by any such exclamatory words on the part of the person to whom the speech is addressed. Further, in plays the characters' utterances are generally much longer than in ordinary conversation. Here is a short example of a dialogue between two characters from Bernard Shaw's play "Heartbreak House": CAPTAIN SHOTOVER: Nurse, who is this misguided and unfortunate young lady? NURSE: She says Miss Hessy invited her, sir. CAPTAIN SHOTOVER: And had she no friend, no parents to warn her against my daughter's invitations? This is a pretty sort of house, by heavens! A young and attractive lady is invited here. Her luggage is left on this steps, for hours; and she herself is deposited in the poop and abandoned, tired and starving..." This passage is typical in many ways. First of all the matter-of-fact dialogue between the captain and the nurse gradually flows into a monologue in which elements of the spoken language and of emotive prose are merged. The monologue begins with the conjunction 'and' which serves to link the preceding question to the monologue. The question after 'and' is more of a "question-in-the-narrative" than a real question: the captain does not expect an answer and proceeds with his monologue. Then, after an exclamatory 'This is a pretty sort of house, by heavens!' which is actual, common colloquial, there again comes an utterance intended to inform the audience of the Captain's attitude towards the House and the household. Mark aisc the professionalism 'poop' used to characterize the language of Shotover, a retired ship's captain. In fact, there is no dialogue, or as Prof. Jakubinsky has it, a "false dialogue", or "monological dialogue", the nurse's remark being a kind of linking sentence between the twc parts of the captain's monologue. These linking remarks serve to enliven the monologue, thus making it easier to grasp the meaning of the utterance. The monological character of the dialogue in plays becomes apparent also by the fact that two or more questions may be asked one after another, as in the following excerpts: 1. "LADY BRITOMART: Do you suppose this wicked and immoral tradition can be kept up for ever? Do you pretend that Stephen could not carry on the foundry just as well as all the other sons of big business houses?"

2. "BARBARA: Dolly: were you really in earnest about it? Would you have joined if you had never seen me?" (Shaw) Needless to say, in ordinary conversation we never use a succession of questions. Generally only one, perhaps two, questions are asked at a time, and if more are asked - then we already have a kind of emotional narrative; not a dialogue in the exact meaning of the word. In ordinary conversation we generally find "sequence sentences'' connected by "sequence signals". These signals help to establish the logical reference to what was said before, thus linking all sequential series of sentences into one whole. These sequence signals are mostly pronouns, adverbs, conjunctions, as in "The boy has just brought the evening paper. It is at the door," or "Up to 1945 L. was with Johnson. Since he has worked with us." It must be remarked in passing that almost any lively dialogue will hold a sequence of sentences for only a short span, the nature of lively dialogue allowing deviations from the starting point. How often do we hear the phrase: "What was I going to say?" or "What was I driving at?" "How did we come to talk about this?" to ascertain the initial topic of conversation, which has been forgotten. This is not the case in plays. The sequence of sentences reflecting the sequence of thought, being directed by the purport of the writer, will not allow any deviations from the course taken, unless this was the deliberate intention of the playwright. Therefore unlike the real, natural spoken variety of language, the language of plays is already purposeful. The sequence signals, which are not so apparent in lively conversation become conspicuous in the language of plays. Here is an illustrative example of a span of thought expressed in a number of sentences all linked by the pronoun he and all referring to the first word of the utterance 'Dunn' which in its turn hooks the utterance to the preceding sentence: "THE CAPTAIN: Dunn! I had a boatswain whose name was Dunn. He was originally a pirate in China. He set up as a ship's chandler with stores, which I have every reason to believe he stole from me. No doubt he became rich. Are you his daughter?" The degree to which the norms of ordinary colloquial language are converted into those of the language of plays, that is, the degree to which "the spoken language is made literary" varies at different periods in the development of drama and depends also on the idiosyncrasies of the playwright himself. Here are two illustrations, one taken from Oliver Goldsmith's play "The Good-Natured Man", an 18th century play, and the other from H. Pinter's play "The Birthday Party", a play

of our time. "MR. CROAKER: But can anything be more absurd, than to double our distresses by our apprehensions, and put it in the power of every low fellow that can scrawl ten words of wretched spelling, to torment us?" Compare this utterance with the following: "GOLDBERG: What's your name now? STANLEY: Joe Soarp. GOLDBERG: Is the number 846 possible or necessary? STANLEY: Neither. GOLDBERG: Wrong! Is the number 846 possible or necessary? STANLEY: Both." Almost the whole play is composed of such short questions and answers tending to reproduce an actual communicative process where the sense is vague to the outsider. Considerable effort on the part of the audience is sometimes necessary in order to follow the trend of the conversation and decode the playwright's purport. It may be remarked in passing that there is an analogous tendency in modern emotive prose where dialogue occupies considerable space. In some of the novels it takes up three or four pages running, thus resembling a play.' In summing up, it will not come amiss to state that any presentation of a play is an aesthetic procedure and the language of plays is of the type, which is meant to be reproduced. Therefore even when the language of a play approximates that of a real dialogue, it will none the less be "stylized". The ways and means this stylization is carried out are difficult to observe without careful consideration. But they are there and specification of these means will be a valuable contribution to linguistic science. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971 pp.255-296). PUBLICISTS STYLE Publicistic style became discernible as a separate style in the middle of the 18th century. It also falls into three varieties, each having its own distinctive features, which integrate them. Unlike other styles, the publicistic style has spoken varieties, in particular, the oratorical substyle. The development of radio and television has brought into being a new spoken variety, namely, the radio commentary. The other two are the essay (moral, philosophical, literary) and articles (political, social, economic) in newspapers, journals and magazines. Book reviews in journals and magazines and also pamphlets are generally included among essays. The general aim of publicistic style, which makes it stand out as a

separate style, is to exert a constant and deep influence on public opinion, to convince the reader or the listener that the interpretation given by the writer or the speaker is the only correct one and to cause him to accept the point of view expressed in the speech, essays or article not merely by logical argumentation, but by emotional appeal as well. This brainwashing function is most effective in oratory, for here the most powerful instrument of persuasion is brought into play: the human voice. Due to its characteristic combination of logical argumentation and emotional appeal, publicistic style has features in common with the style of scientific prose, on the one hand, and that of emotive prose, on the other. Its coherent and logical syntactical structure, with an expanded system of connectives and its careful paragraphing, makes it similar to scientific prose. Its emotional appeal is generally achieved by the use of words with emotive meaning, the use of imagery and other stylistic devices as in emotive prose; but the stylistic devices used in publicistic style are not fresh or genuine. The individual element essential to the belles-lettres style is, as a rule, little in evidence here. This is in keeping with the general character of the style. The manner of presenting ideas, however, brings this style closer to that of belles-lettres, in this case to emotive prose, as it is to a certain extent individual. Naturally, of course, essays and speeches have greater individuality than newspaper or magazine articles where the individual element is generally toned down and limited by the requirements of the style. Publicistic style is also characterized by brevity of expression. In some varieties of this style it becomes a leading feature, an important linguistic means. In essays brevity sometimes becomes epigrammatic. The most general distinguishing features of publicistic style and its subdivisions are laid down here, but it is not always possible to draw a clear demarcation line between these subdivisions, as their features often overlap. We shall outline only the most obvious sub' divisions: oratory, that is, speeches and orations, essays and articles. ORATORY AND SPEECHES Oratorical style is the oral subdivision of the publicistic style. It has already been pointed out that persuasion is the most obvious purpose of oratory. "Oratorical speech", writes A. Potebnya, "aims not only at the understanding and digesting of the idea, but also serves simultaneously as a spring setting off a mood (which is the aim) that may lead to action."

Direct contact with the listeners permits the combination of the syntactical, lexical and phonetic peculiarities of both the written and spoken varieties of language. In its leading features, however, oratorical style belongs to the written variety of language, though it is modified by the oral form of the utterance and the use of gestures. Certain typical features of the spoken variety of speech present in this style are: direct address to the audience (ladies and gentlemen, honourable member(s), the use of the 2nd person pronoun you, etc.), sometimes contractions (Ill, won't, haven't, isn't and others) and the use of colloquial words. This style is evident in speeches on political and social problems of the day, in orations and addresses on solemn occasions as public weddings, funerals and jubilees, in sermons and debates and also in the speeches of counsel and judges in courts of law. Political speeches fall into two categories: parliamentary debates and speeches at rallies, congresses, meetings and election campaigns. Sermons mostly touch upon religious subjects, ethics and morality, and sometimes nowadays they take up social and political problems as well. Orations on solemn public occasions are typical specimens of this style and not a few of their word sequences and phrases are ready-made phrases or cliches. The sphere of application of oratory is confined to appeal to an audience and therefore crucial issues in such spheres as science, art, literature, or business relations are not touched upon except perhaps by allusion. If such problems are dealt with in oratorical style the effect is humorous. The following extract from "Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club" by Charles Dickens is a parody of an oration. - "But I trust, Sir," said Pott, "that I have never abused the enormous power I wield. I trust, Sir, that I have never pointed the noble instrument which is placed in my hands, against the sacred bosom of private life, of the tender breast of individual reputation; - I trust, Sir, that I have devoted my energies to - to endeavours humble they may be, humble I know they are - to instil those principles of - which are - ." - Here the editor of the Eatonswilll Gazette, appearing to ramble, Mr. Pickwick came to his relief, and said - "Certainly." The stylistic devices employed in oratorical style are determined by the conditions of communication. If the desire of the speaker is to rouse the audience and to keep it in suspense, he will use various traditional stylistic devices. But undue prominence given to the form may lead to an exaggerated use of these devices, to various embellishments.

Tradition is very powerful in oratorical style and the 16th century rhetorical principles laid down by Thomas Wilson in his "Arte of Rhetorique" are sometimes still used in modern oratory, though, on the whole, modern oratory tends to lower its key more and more, using the note of quiet business-like exposition of ideas. Stylistic devices are closely interwoven and mutually complementary thus building up an intricate pattern. For example, antithesis is framed by parallel constructions, which, in their turn, are accompanied by repetition, while climax can be formed by repetitions of different kinds. As the audience rely only on memory, the speaker often resorts to repetitions to enable his listeners to follow him and retain the main points of his speech. Repetition is also resorted to in order to persuade the audience, to add weight to the speaker's opinion. The following extract from the speech of the American Confederate general, A. P. Hill, on the ending of the Civil War in the U.S.A. is an example of anaphoric repetition: "It is high time this people had recovered from the passions of war. It is high time that counsel were taken from statesmen, not demagogues... It is high time the people of the North and the South understood each other and adopted means to inspire confidence in each other." Further, anadiplosis is used by the speaker: "The South will not secede again. That was her great folly - folly against her own interest, not wrong against you. A mere repetition of the same idea and in the same linguistic form may bore the audience and destroy the speaker-audience contact, therefore synonymous phrase repetition is used instead, thus filling up the speech with details and embellishing it, as in this excerpt from a speech on Robert Burns: "For Burns exalted our race, he hallowed Scotland and the Scottish tongue. Before his time we had for a long period been scarcely recognized; we had been falling out of the recollection of the world. From the time of the Union of the Crowns, and still more from the legislative union, Scotland had lapsed into obscurity. Except for an occasional riot or a Jacobite rising, her existence was almost forgotten." Here synonymous phrase repetition ('been scarcely recognized,' 'falling out of the recollection of the world', 'had lapsed into obscurity', 'her existence was almost forgotten') is coupled with climax. Repetition can be regarded as the most typical stylistic device of English oratorical style. Almost any piece of oratory will have parallel constructions, antithesis, suspense, climax, rhetorical questions and questions-inthe-narrative. It will be no exaggeration to say that almost all typical syntactical stylistic devices can be found in English oratory. Questions are most frequent

because they promote closer contact with the audience. The change of intonation breaks the monotony of the intonation pattern and revives the attention of the listeners. The desire of the speaker to convince and to rouse his audience results in the use of simile and metaphor, but these are generally traditional ones, as fresh and genuine stylistic devices may divert the attention of the listeners away from the main point of the speech. Besides, unexpected and original images are more difficult to grasp and the process takes time. If a genuine metaphor is used by the orator, it is usually a sustained one, as a series of related images is easier to grasp and facilitates the conception of facts compared. Allusions in oratorical style depend on the content of the speech and the level of the audience. Special obligatory forms open up and end an oration, e.g. My Lords; Mr. President; Mr. Chairman; Your Worship; Ladies and Gentlemen, etc. At the end of his speech the speaker usually thanks the audience for their attention by saying: Thank you or Thank you very much. Expressions of direct address can be repeated in the course of the speech and may be expressed differently: dear friends, my friends. Mark you! Mind). Here is an interesting example showing how overdoing the use of stylistic devices may veil the uncertainty of the speaker, in this case as to what should be done to remedy the state of affairs he describes. "In defending the Bottom Dog I do not deal with hard science only; but with the dearest faiths, the oldest wrongs and the most awful relationship of the great human family, for whose good I strive and to whose judgment I appeal. Showing, as I do, how the hardworking and hard-playing public shun laborious thinking and serious writing, and how they hate to have their ease disturbed or their prejudices handled rudely, I still make bold to undertake this task, because of the vital nature of the problems I shall probe. The case for the Bottom Dog should touch the public heart to the quick, for it affects the truth of our religions, the justice of our laws and the destinies of our children and our children's children. Much golden eloquence has been squandered in praise of the successful and the good; much stern condemnation has been vented upon the wicked. I venture now to plead for those of our poor brothers and sisters who are accursed of Christ and rejected of men. Hitherto all the love, all the honors, all the applause of this world, and the rewards of heaven have been lavished on the fortunate and the strong; and the portion of the unfriended Bottom Dog, in his adversity and weakness, has been curses, blows, chains, the gallows and everlasting damnation. I shall plead, then, for those who are loathed and

tortured and branded as the sinful and unclean; for those who have hated us and wronged us, and have been wronged and hated by us. I shall defend them for right's sake, for pity's sake and for the benefit of society and the race. For these also are of our flesh, these also have erred and gone astray, these also are victims of an inscrutable and relentless Fate. If it concerns us that the religions of the world are childish dreams of nightmares; if it concerns us that our penal laws and moral codes are survivals of barbarism and fear; if it concerns us that our most cherished and venerable ideas of our relations to God and to each other are illogical and savage, then the case for the Bottom Dog concerns us nearly. If it moves us to learn that disease may be prevented, that ruin may be averted, that broken hearts and broken lives may be made whole; if it inspires us to hear how beauty may be conjured out of loathsomeness and glory out of shame; how waste may be turned to wealth and death to life, and despair to happiness. Then the case for the Bottom Dog is a case to be well and truly tried." (Robert Blatchford) The ornamental elements of the oratorical pattern are highly exaggerated in this speech. It overabounds in various syntactical stylistic devices: in parallel constructions, chiasmus, repetition of various kinds, in particular, anaphoric repetition; there is climax in practically every paragraph. The passage is equally rich in such devices as suspense and antithesis. Elevation and emotional appeal are achieved by the use of high-flown words and words of emotive meaning. But this pomposity, as a matter of fact, conceals weakness in purport. Very little remains if all these devices are removed and the speech, as it were, translated into the language of logic. What is the aim of the speaker? What is he proposing to the audience he wishes to stir? What reaction does he expect? All this remains unsaid. The main idea of Blatchford's speech, however, can be discerned in spite of all the embellishments of his oratory. He wants help for those miserable people who are to be found at the bottom of the social ladder, but he makes no practical suggestions. It will be of considerable interest to compare this speech to Byron's Maiden Speech in the House of Lords in defence of the Luddites, which can be regarded as a perfect specimen of oratorical style. Byron used his eloquence against the Bill providing capital punishment for the destruction of machines. His purpose was to prevent the passage of the Bill, to get an impartial examination of the facts. Byron's speech is also rich in oratorical devices. But all these devices are motivated, they are organically connected with the utterance: the form by no means dominates the content.

An examination of the following speech will show that it is practically devoid of meaning. The speaker is merely seeking an effect. "Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen: It is indeed a great and undeserved privilege to address such an audience as I see before me. At no previous time in the history of human civilization have greater problems confronted and challenged the ingenuity of man's intellect than now. Let us look around us. What do we see on the horizon? What forces are at work? Whither are we drifting? Under what mist of clouds does the future stand obscured? My friends, casting aside the raiment of all human speech, the crucial test for the solution of all these intricate problems to which I have just alluded is the sheer and forceful application of those immutable laws which down the corridor of Time have always guided the hand of man, groping, as it were, for some faint beacon light for his hopes and aspirations. Without these great vital principles we are but puppets responding to whim and fancy, failing entirely to grasp the hidden meaning of it all. We must re-address ourselves to these questions, which press for answer and solution. The issues cannot be avoided. There they stand. It is upon you, and you, and yet even upon me, that the yoke of responsibility falls. What, then, is our duty? Shall we continue to drift? No! With all the emphasis of my being I hurl back the message No! Drifting must stop. We must press onward and upward toward the ultimate goal to which all must aspire. But I cannot conclude my remarks, dear friends, without touching briefly upon a subject, which I know is steeped in your very consciousness. I refer to that spirit which gleams from the eyes of a new-born babe, that animates the toiling masses, that sways all the hosts of humanity past and present. Without this energizing principle all commerce, trade and industry are hushed and will perish from this earth as surely as the crimson sunset follows the golden sunshine. Mark you, I do not seek to unduly alarm or distress trie-mothers, fathers, sons and daughters gathered before me in this vast assemblage, but I would indeed be recreant to a high resolve which I made as a youth if I did not at this time and in this place, and with the full realizing sense of responsibility which I assume, publicly declare and affirm my dedication and my consecration to the eternal principles and receipts of simple, ordinary, commonplace justice." The proper evaluation of this speech should be: "Words, words, words." The whole speech is made to hide the fact that the speaker has no thought. Questions remain unanswered, climaxes are not

motivated. What is the subject that 'cannot be left untouched'? This is really a masterpiece of eloquent emptiness and verbosity. THE ESSAY As a separate form of English literature the essay dates from the close of the 16th century. The name appears to have become common on the publication of Montaigne's "Essays", a literary form created by this French writer. The essay is a literary composition of moderate length on philosophical, social, aesthetic or literary subjects. It never goes deep into the subject, but merely touches upon the surface. Personality in the treatment of theme and naturalness of expression are two of the most obvious characteristics of the essay. An essay is rather a series of personal and witty comments than a finished argument or a conclusive examination of any matter. This literary genre has definite linguistic traits, which shape the essay as a variety of publicistic style. Here is a part of an essay by Ben Jonson, which illustrates this style in its most typical and original form as it was at the end of the 16th century: "Language most shows a man; speak, that I may see thee. It springs out of the most retired and inmost parts of us, and is the image of the parent of it, the mind. No glass renders a man's form or likeness so true, as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man; and as we consider feature and composition in a man, so words in language; in the greatness, aptness, sound, structure, and harmony of it. Some men are tall and big, so some language is high and great. Then the words are chosen, the sound ample, the composition full, the absolution plenteous, and poured out, all grace, sinewy and strong. Some are little and dwarfs; so of speech, it is humble and low; the words are poor and flat; the members are periods thin and weak, without knitting or number. The middle are of just stature. There the language is plain and pleasing: even without stopping, round without swelling; all well turned, composed, eloquent, and accurate. The vicious language is vast and gaping; swelling and irregular; when it contends, high, full of rock, mountain and pointedness; as it affects to be low it is abject and creeps, full of bogs and holes." The essay was very popular in the 17th and 18th centuries. In the 17th century essays were written on topics connected with morals and ethics, while those of the 18th century focussed attention on political and philosophical problems. The 18th century was the great age of essay writing. It was then the principal literary form, and discoursed on the important subjects of the day, often criticizing the shortcomings of the political and social system in England. "Encyclopedia

Britannica" states that the essay became a dominant force in English literature of the 18th century. The following statement of an 18th century essayist is of some interest as it describes the character of the essay: "We writers of essays or (as they are termed) periodical papers"... This statement shows that periodical papers at that time contained only essays. In the 19th century the essay as a literary term gradually changed into what we now call the journalistic article or feature article which covers all kinds of subjects from politics, philosophy or aesthetics to travel, sport and fashions. Feature articles are generally published in newspapers, especially weeklies and Sunday editions. They are often written by one and the same writer or journalist, who has cultivated his own individual style. The most characteristic language features of the essay, however, remain 1) brevity of expression, reaching in good writers a degree of epigrammaticalness, 2) the use of the first person singular, which justifies a personal approach to the problems treated, 3) a rather expanded use of connectives, which facilitate the process of grasping the correlation of ideas, 4) the abundant use of emotive words, 5) the use of similes and sustained metaphors as one of the media for the cognitive process. It is in the interrelation of these constituents that the real secret of the essay substyle consists. Some essays, depending on the writer's individuality, are written in a highly emotional manner resembling the style of emotive prose, others resemble scientific prose and the terms review, memoir or treatise are more applicable to certain more exhaustive studies.' The essay on moral and philosophical topics in modern times has not been so popular, perhaps because a deeper scientific analysis and interpretation of facts is required. The essay in our days is often biographical; persons, facts and events are taken from life. These essays differ from those of previous centuries - their vocabulary is simpler and so is their logical structure and argumentation. But they still retain all the leading features of the publicistic style. In comparison with oratorical style, the essay aims at a more lasting, hence at a slower effect. Epigrams, paradoxes and aphorisms are comparatively rare in oratory, as they require the concentrated attention of the listener. In the essay they are commoner, for the reader has opportunity to make a careful and detailed study both of the content of the utterance and its form. The close resemblance in structure between the essay and the oration has more than once been emphasized by linguists. The main difference between them is very well summarized by H. Robbins and R. Oliver in their work "Developing Ideas into

Essays and Speeches." "...an essay is distinguished from a speech primarily by the fact that the essay seeks a lasting, the speech an immediate effect. The essay must have a depth of meaning which will repay the closest analysis and frequent rereading ... the basic requirement of a good speech is that it carry immediately into the mind of its hearer precisely the point which the speaker wishes to make."' Therefore writers say that "...the speaker is allowed much more leeway in sentence structure than the writer." In summing up the characteristics of the essay it wi\\ not come amiss to give the following epigrammatic definition: "The Essay is not a treatise. It is not Euclid, it is flashlight. It is not proof, it is representation. It is a chat; the keynote to the essay is its personality." ARTICLES Irrespective of the character of the magazine and the divergence of subject matter - whether it is political, literary, popular-scientific or satirical, all the already mentioned features of publicistic style are to be found in any article. The character of the magazine as well as the subject chosen affects the choice and use of stylistic devices. Words of emotive meaning, for example, are few, if any, in popular scientific articles. Their exposition is more consistent and the system of connectives more expanded than, say, in a satirical article. The language of political magazine articles differs little from that of newspaper articles as described in the chapter on Newspaper Style. But such elements of publicistic style as rare and bookish words, neologisms (which sometimes require explanation in the text), traditional word combinations and parenthesis are more frequent here than in newspaper articles. In an article dealing with what were forthcoming presidential elections in the USA, which it is impossible to quote here because of its length, we find such bookish and highflown words as ambivalent, exhilarated, appalled, etc. Its argumentation and emotional appeal is achieved by emphatic constructions of different kinds; 'how dim the outlook for victory was', 'Stevenson is anything but an irresponsible man', 'it could well have been, though'..., 'he is at once exhilarated and appalled'. Humorous effect is produced by the use of words and phrases which normally are out of the range of this sort of article: melancholy, graciously, extending his best wishes and by periphrases. Literary reviews stand closer to essays both by their content and by their linguistic form. More abstract words of logical meaning are used in them, they more often

resort to emotional language and less frequently to traditional set expressions. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971 pp.206-296). NEWSPAPER STYLE Newspaper style was the last of all the styles of written literary English to be recognized as a specific form of writing standing apart from other forms. English newspaper writing dates from the 17th century. At the close of the 16th century short news pamphlets began to appear. Any such publication either presented news from only one source or dealt with one specific subject. Note the titles of some of the earliest news pamphlets: "Newe newes, containing a short rehearsal of Stukely's and Morice's Rebellion" (1579), "Newes from Spain and Holland" (1593), "Wonderful and strange newes out of Suffoike and Essex, where it rayned wheat the space of six or seven miles" (1583). News pamphlets appeared only from time to time and cannot be classed as newspapers, though they were unquestionably the immediate forerunners of the British press. The first of any regular series of English newspapers was the Weekly Newes, which first appeared on May 23, 1622. It lasted for some twenty years till in 1641 it ceased publication. The 17th century saw the rise of a number of other news sheets which, with varying success, struggled on in the teeth of discouragement and restrictions imposed by the Crown. With the introduction of a strict licensing system many such sheets were suppressed, and the Government, in its turn, set before the public a paper of its own - The London Gazette, first published on February 5, 1666. The paper was a semi-weekly and carried official information, royal decrees, news from abroad, and advertisements. The first English daily newspaper-the Daily Courant-was brought out on March 11, 1702. The paper carried news, largely foreign, and no comment, the latter being against the principles of the publisher, as was stated in the first issue of his paper. Thus the early English newspaper was principally a vehicle of information. Commentary as a regular feature found its way into the newspapers later. But as far back as the middle of the 18th century the British newspaper was very much like what it is today, carrying on its pages news, both foreign and domestic, advertisements, announcements and articles containing comments. The rise of the American newspaper, which was brought onto American soil by British settlers, dates back to the late 17th, early 18th centuries. It took the English newspaper more than a century to establish a style and a standard of its own. And it

is only by the 19th century that newspaper English may be said to have developed into a system of language means, which forms a separate functional style. The specific conditions of newspaper publication, the restrictions of time and space, have left an indelible mark on newspaper English. For more than a century writers and linguists have been vigorously attacking "the slipshod construction and the vulgar vocabulary" of newspaper English. The very term newspaper English carried a shade of disparagement. Yet, for all the defects of newspaper English, serious though they may be, this form of the English literary language cannot be reduced - as some purists have claimed - merely to careless slovenly writing or to a distorted literary English. This is one of the forms of the English literary language characterized - as any other style - by a definite communicative aim and its own definite system of language means. Thus, English newspaper style may be defined as a system of interrelated lexical, phraseological and grammatical means, which is perceived by the community speaking the language as a separate unity that basically serves the purpose of informing and instructing the reader. Not all the printed matter found in newspapers comes under newspaper style. The modern newspaper carries material of an extremely diverse character. On the pages of a newspaper one finds not only news and comment on it, but also stories and poems, crossword puzzles, chess problems, and the like. Since these serve the purpose of entertaining the reader, they cannot be considered specimens of newspaper style. Nor can articles in special fields, such as science and technology, art, literature, etc. be classed as belonging to newspaper style. Since the primary function of newspaper style is to impart information, only printed matter serving this purpose comes under newspaper style proper. Such matter can be classed as: 1. brief news items and communiques, 2. press reports (parliamentary, of court proceedings, etc.), 3. articles purely informational in character, 4. advertisements and announcements. The most concise form of newspaper information is the headline. The newspaper also seeks to influence public opinion on political and other matters. Elements of appraisal may be observed in the very selection and way of presentation of news, in the use of specific vocabulary, such as allege and claim, casting some doubt on the facts reported, and syntactic constructions indicating a lack of assurance on the part of the reporter as to the

correctness of the facts reported or his desire to avoid responsibility (for example, 'Mr. X was said to have opposed the proposal'; 'Mr. X was quoted as saying...'}. The headlines of news items, apart from giving information about the subjectmatter, also carry a considerable amount of appraisal (the size and arrangement of the headline, the use of emotionally coloured words and elements of emotive syntax), thus indicating the interpretation of the facts in the news item that follows. But, of course, the principal vehicle of interpretation and appraisal is the newspaper article, and the editorial in particular. Editorials, leading articles or leaders are characterized by a subjective handling of facts, political or otherwise, and therefore have more in common with political essays or articles and should rather be classed as belonging to publicistic style than newspaper style. However, newspaper publicistic writing bears the stamp of newspaper style. Though it seems natural to consider newspaper articles, editorials included, as coming within the system of English newspaper style, it is necessary to note that such articles are an intermediate phenomenon characterized by a combination of styles - the newspaper style and the publicistic style. In other words, they may be considered hybrids. To understand the language peculiarities of English newspaper style it will be sufficient to analyse the following basic newspaper features: 1. brief news items, 2. advertisements and announcements, 3. the headline, and 4. (with the reservations stated above) the editorial. BRIEF NEWS ITEMS The function of a brief news item is to inform the reader. It states only facts without giving comments. This accounts for the total absence of any individuality of expression and the almost complete lack of emotional colouring. It is essentially matter-of-fact, and stereotyped forms of expression prevail. It goes without saying that the bulk of the vocabulary used in newspaper writing is neutral and common literary. But apart from this, newspaper style has its specific vocabulary features and is characterized by an extensive use of: a) Special political and economic terms, e.g., constitution, president, apartheid, by-election, General Assembly, gross output, per capita production. b) Non-term political vocabulary, e.g., public, people, progressive, nation-wide, unity, peace. A characteristic feature of political vocabulary is that the borderline between terms and non-terms is less distinct than in the vocabulary of other special fields. The semantic structure of some words comprises both terms and non-terms, e.g.,

nation, crisis, agreement, member, representative, leader. c) Newspaper cliches, i.e., stereotyped expressions, commonplace phrases familiar to the reader; e.g., vital issue, pressing problem, well-informed sources, danger of war, to escalate a war, war hysteria, overwhelming majority, amid stormy applause. Cliches more than anything else reflect the traditional manner of expression in newspaper writing. They are commonly looked upon as a defect of style. Indeed, some cliches, especially those based on trite images (e.g. captains of industry, pillars of society, bulwark of civilization) are pompous and hackneyed, others, such as welfare state, affluent society, are false and misleading. But nevertheless, cliches are in dispensable in newspaper style: they prompt the necessary associations and prevent ambiguity and misunderstanding. d) Abbreviations. News items, press reports and headlines abound in abbreviations of various kinds. Among them abbreviated terms - names of organizations, public and state bodies, political associations, industrial and other companies, various offices, etc. known by their initials are very common; e.g. UNO (United Actions Organization), TUC (Trades Union Congress), NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization), AFL-CIO (American Federation of Labour-Congress of Industrial Organizations), EEC (European Economic Community), TGWU (Transport and General Workers Union), FO (Foreign Office), PIB (Prices and Incomes Board). The widespread use of initials in newspaper language has been expanded to the names of persons constantly in the public eye and we find references to LBJ (Lyndon Baines Johnson), JFK (John Fitzgerald Kennedy). We even find whole statements referred to by their initials, e.g., UDI (Unilateral Declaration of Independence /of Rhodesia/) and NIBMAR (No independence before majority African Rule). e) Neologisms. These are very common in newspaper vocabulary. The newspaper is very quick to react to any new development in the life of society, in science and technology. Hence, neologisms make their way into the language of the newspaper very easily and often even spring up on newspaper pages, e.g., sputnik, to outsputnik, lunik, a splash-down (the act of bringing a spacecraft to a water surface), a teach-in (a form of campaigning through heated political discussion), backlash or white backlash (a violent reaction of American racists to the Negroes' struggle for civil rights), frontlash (a vigorous anti-racist movement), stop-go policies (contradictory, indecisive and inefficient policies). The above-listed peculiarities of brief news items are the vocabulary parameters of English newspaper style.

The vocabulary of brief news items is generally devoid of any emotional colouring. Some "popular" papers, however, such as the Daily Mirror, tend to introduce emotionally coloured elements into the matter-of-fact, linguistically neutral news stories, e.g., "Health Minister Kenneth Robinson made this shock announcement yesterday in the Commons." (Daily Mirror) "Technicians at the space base here are now working flat out to prepare Gemini 6 for next Monday's blast-off." (Daily Mail) Important as vocabulary is, it is not so much the words and phrases used in brief news items that distinguish them from other forms of newspaper writing. The vocabulary groups listed above are also commonly found in headlines and newspaper articles. The basic peculiarities of news items lie in their syntactical structure. As the reporter is obliged to be brief, he naturally tries to cram all his facts into the space alloted. This tendency predetermines the peculiar composition of brief news items and the syntactical structure of the sentences. The size of brief news items varies from one sentence to several (short) paragraphs. And generally, the shorter the news, the more complex its syntactical structure. The following grammatical peculiarities of brief news items are of paramount importance, and may be regarded as grammatical parameters of newspaper style. a) Complex sentences with a developed system of clauses, e.g., "Mr. Boyd-Carpenter, Chief Secretary to the Treasury and Paymaster-General (Kingston-upon-Thames), said he had been asked what was meant by the statement in the Speech that the position of war pensioners and those receiving national insurance benefits would be kept under close review." (The Times) "There are indications that BOAC may withdraw threats of all-out dismissals for pilots who restrict flying hours, a spokesman for the British Airline Pilots' association said yesterday." b) Verbal constructions (infinitive, participial, gerundial); and verbal noun constructions, e.g., "Mr. Nobusuke Kishi, the former Prime Minister of Japan, has sought to set an example to the faction-ridden Governing Liberal Democratic Party by announcing the disbanding of his own faction numbering 47 of the total of 295 conservative members of the Lower house of the Diet." (The Times) c) Syntactical complexes, especially the nominative with the infinitive. These constructions are largely used to avoid mentioning the source of information or to shun responsibility for the facts reported, e.g., "The condition of Lord Samuel, aged 92, was said last night to be a 'little better.'" (The Guardian) A Petrol bomb is believed to have been exploded against the grave of Cecil Rhodes in the Matopos." (The Times) d) Attributive noun groups are another powerful means

of effecting brevity in news items, e.g., 'heart swap patient' (Morning Star), 'the national income and expenditure figures' (The Times), 'Labour backbench decision' (Morning Star), 'Mr. Wilson's HMS Fearless package deal' (Morning Star), leap into space age (Daily Worker). e) Specific word order. Newspaper tradition, coupled with the rigid rules of sentence structure in English, has greatly affected the word order of brief news items. The word order in one-sentence news paragraphs and in what are called leads (the initial sentences in longer news items) is more or less fixed. Journalistic practice has developed what is called the "five-wand-h-pattern rule" (who-what-why-how-where-when) and for a long time strictly adhered to it. In terms of grammar this fixed sentence structure may be expressed in the following manner: Subject - Predicate (object) - Adverbial modifier of reason (manner) - Adverbial modifier of place - Adverbial modifier of time, e.g., "The US Consul-General, Mr. Maxwell McCullough, snooped incognito round the anti-Polaris art exhibition "Count Down" in the McLellan Galleries here this morning". (Daily Worker) It has been repeatedly claimed by the authors of manuals of journalistic writing that the "five-w-and-h" structure was the only right pattern of sentence structure to use in news reports. Facts, however, disprove this contention. Statistics show that there are approximately as many cases in which the traditional word order is violated as those in which it is observed. It is now obvious that the newspaper has developed new sentence patterns not typical of other styles. This observation refers, firstly, to the position of the adverbial modifier of definite time. Compare another pattern typical of brief news sentence structure: Derec Heath, 43, yesterday left Falmouth for the third time in his attempt to cross the Atlantic in a 12ft dinghy. (Morning Star) Brighton council yesterday approved a fi 22,500 scheme to have parking meters operating in the centre of the town by March. (The Times This and some other unconventional sentence patterns have become a common practice with brief news writers. There are some other, though less marked, tendencies in news item writing of modifying well-established grammatical norms. Mention should be made of occasional disregard for the sequence of tenses rule (e.g., It was announced in Cairo yesterday that elections will be held... Daily Worker) and the rules for reporting speech (e.g., After offering "the hearty congratulations of myself and the federation I represent" and expressing his wish for "every success in the future," Mr. Holt concludes... Daily Worker). What is ordinarily looked upon as a gross violation of grammar rules in

any other kind of writing is becoming increasingly common as a functional peculiarity of newspaper style. THE HEADLINE The headline is the title given to a news item or a newspaper article. The main function of the headline is to inform the reader briefly of what the news that follows is about. Sometimes headlines contain elements of appraisal, i.e., they show the reporter's or the paper's attitude to the facts reported. English headlines are short and catching, they "compact the gist of news stories into a few eyesnaring words. A skilfully turned out headline tells a story, or enough of it, to arouse or satisfy the reader's curiosity."1 In most of the English and American newspapers sensational headlines are quite common. The practices of headline writing are different with different newspapers. In The Morning Star, for example, as in many other papers, there is, as a rule, one headline to a news item, whereas The Times and The Guardian more often than not carry a news item or an article with two or three headlines, and The New York Times - sometimes as many as four, e.g., DANES CHALLENGE MR HEATH Same terms wanted for butter as "Six" were offered (The Guardian) COOL BRITISH REPLY FILIP1NOS' AGENT AIDED CAMPAIGNS OF 20 IN CONGRESS Lobbyist for War Damage Claimants Gave Funds to Men in Both Parties GIFTS TOTALED $7.100 Zablocki of Wisconsin Got $2,000Humphrey Was the Recipient of $500 (The New York Times) Such group headlines are almost a summary of the information contained in a news item or an article. The functions and the peculiar nature of English headlines predetermine the choice of language means used. The vocabulary groups considered in the analysis of brief news items are commonly found in headlines. But unlike news, headlines also contain emotionally coloured words and phrases as the italicised words in the following: UNWILLING FLUNKEYS {Daily Herald) Crazy Waste of Youth

(Reynolds News) Mac Silent on Paris Talks (Daily Worker) NEDDY SHOWS SIGNS OF FLAGGING (The Guardian) No Wonder Housewives are Pleading: 'HELP' (Dally Mirror) Roman Catholic Priest sacked. Furthermore, to attract the reader's attention, headline writers often resort to a deliberate breaking-up of set expressions, in particular fused set expressions, and deformation of special terms, a stylistic device capable of producing a strong emotional effect, e.g., Cakes and Bitter Ale (The Sunday Times) Multilateral Fog (Daily Worker); Conspirator-in-chief Still at Large (The Guardian) Compare respectively the allusive set expression cakes and ale, and the terms multilateral force and commander-in-chief. Other stylistic devices are not infrequent in headlines, as for example, the pun (e.g., 'And what about Watt' - The Observer), alliteration (e.g. Miller in Maniac Mood - The Observer), etc. The basic language peculiarities of headlines, however, lie in their structure. Syntactically headlines are very short sentences or phrases of a variety of patterns: a) Full declarative sentences, e. g. 'They Threw Bombs on Gipsy Sites' (Morning Star), 'Allies Now Look to London' (The Times). b) Interrogative sentences, e.g., 'Do you love war?' (Daily World), 'Who has never had it so good?' (Daily Worker). c) Nominative sentences, e.g., 'Gloomy Sunday' (The Guardian), 'Atlantic Sea Traffic' (The Times), 'Union peace plan for Girling stewards' (Morning Star). d) Elliptical sentences: a. with an auxiliary verb omitted, e.g., 'Initial report not expected until June' (The Guardian), 'Yachtsman spotted' (Morning Star}, 'South Vietnamese Company Wiped Out by Guerrillas' (The New York Herald Tribune); b. with the subject omitted, e.g., 'Stole luxury cars by photo' (Daily Worker), 'Fell 4 floors and walked in at a door' (Daily Worker);c. with the subject and part of the predicate omitted, e.g., 'Off to the sun' (Morning Star), 'Still in danger' (The Guardian). e) Sentences with articles omitted, e.g., 'Frogman finds girl in river' (Daily Worker), 'Staff join teach-in by Bristol students' (Morning Star), 'Adenauer Gives View On Erhard' (New York Herald Tribune). Articles are very frequently omitted in all types of headlines. f) Phrases with verbals: a. infinitive, e.g., 'To get US aid' (Morning Star), 'To visit Fai-sal' (Morning Star);

b. participial and gerundial, e.g., 'Keeping Prices Down' (The Times), 'Preparing reply on cold war' (Morning Star), 'Speaking parts' (The Sunday Times), 'Club stabbing' (Daily Worker). g) Questions in the form of statements, e.g., 'The worse the better?' (Daily World), 'Growl now, smile later?' (The Observer). h) Complex sentences, e.g., 'Senate Panel Hears Board of Military Experts Who Favoured Losing Bidder' (The New York Times), 'US Newsman Declares He Helped Bomb Havana' (New York Herald Tribune). i) Headlines including direct speech: a. introduced by a full sentence, e.g. 'Prince Richard says: "I was not in trouble'" (The Guardian), 'What Oils the Wheels of Industry? Asks James Lowery-Olearch of the Shell-Mex and B. P. Group' (The Times); b. introduced elliptically, e.g., 'City idiots are the people's enemies - MF' (Morning Star), 'The Queene: "My deep distress'" (The Guardian), 'Observe MidEast Ceasefire-U Thant' (Morning Star). The above-listed patterns, though they are the most typical, do not cover the great variety in headline structure. The headline in British and American newspapers is an important vehicle of both information and appraisal, and editors give it special attention, admitting that few read beyond the headline,1 or at best the lead. To lure the reader into going through the whole of the item or at least a greater part of it, takes a lot of skill and ingenuity on the part of the headline writer. ADVERTISEMENTS AND ANNOUNCEMENTS Advertisements made their way into the British press at an early stage of its development, i.e., in the mid-17th century. So they are almost as old as newspapers themselves. The function of advertisements and announcements, like that of brief news, is to inform the reader. There are two basic types of advertisements and announcements in the modern English newspaper: classified and non-classified (separate). In classified advertisements and announcements various kinds of information are arranged according to subject matter into sections, each bearing an appropriate name. In The Times, for example, the reader never fails to find several hundred advertisements and announcements classified into groups, such as BIRTHS, MARRIAGES, DEATHS, IN MEMORIAM, BUSINESS OFFERS, PERSONAL, KENNEL, FARM and AVIARY, etc. This classified arrangement

has resulted in a number of stereotyped patterns regularly employed in newspaper advertizing. Note one of the accepted patterns of classified advertisements and announcements in The Times: BIRTHS CULHANE.- On November 1st, 1962 at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, to BARBARA and JOHN CULHANE-a son. All announcements in the 'Birth' section are built on exactly the same elliptical pattern. This tendency to eliminate from the sentence all elements that can be done without is a pronounced one in advertisement and announcement writing. The elliptic sentence structure has no stylistic function; it is purely technical - to economize space, expensive in what newspaper men call the "advertizing hole."! Though of course, having become a common practice, this peculiar brevity of expression is a stylistic feature of advertisements and announcements, which may take a variety of forms, for example: TRAINED NURSE with child 2 years seeks post London preferred.-Write Box C. 658, The Times, E.C. 4. Here the absence of all articles and some punctuation marks makes the statement telegram-like. Sentences, which are grammatically complete also tend to be short and compact. The vocabulary of classified advertisements and announcements is on the whole essentially neutral with here and there a sprinkling of emotionally coloured words or phrases used to attract the reader's attention. Naturally, it is advertisements and announcements in the PERSONAL section that are sometimes characterized by emotional colouring, for example: ROBUST, friendly student, not entirely unintelligent, seeks Christmas vacation job. No wife, will travel, walk, ride or drive and undertake any domestic, agricultural or industrial activity. Will bidders for this curiously normal chap please write Box C. 552, The Times, E.C.4. Emotional colouring is generally moderate, however, though editors seem to place no restrictions on it. See the following announcement in the PERSONAL section of The Times: Alleluia'. I'm a mum. (A jocular modification of the chorus of the well-known American song "Alleluia, I'm a bum". A young woman is stating that she has become a mother.) As for the separate (non-classified) advertisements and announcements, the variety of language form and subject-matter is so great that hardly any essential

features common to all may be pointed out. The reader's attention is attracted by every possible means: typographical, graphical and stylistic, both lexical and syntactical. Here there is no call for brevity, as the advertiser may buy as much space as he chooses. The following are the initial lines of a full-page advertisement of Barclays Bank carried by an issue of The Guardian: WHAT WE WANT A bank's business is with other people's money, so we want people whose integrity is beyond question. Money is a very personal business, so we want people who like people. Banking is work that calls for accuracy, so we want people who can work accurately. Our staff has to have integrity, personality, accuracy. We want them to have imagination too. THE EDITORIAL As has been stated, editorials, like some other types of newspaper articles, are an intermediate phenomenon bearing the stamp of both the newspaper style and the publicistic style. The function of the editorial is to influence the reader by giving an interpretation of certain facts. Editorials comment on the political and other events of the day. Their purpose is to give the editor's opinion and interpretation of the news published and suggest to the reader that it is the correct one. Like any publicistic writing, editorials appeal not only to the reader's mind but to his feelings as well. Hence, the use of emotionally-coloured language elements, both lexical and structural. Here are examples: "The long-suffering British housewife needs a bottomless purse to cope with this scale of inflation." (Daily Mirror) "But since they came into power the trend has been up, up, up and the pace seems to be accelerating." (Daily Mail) In addition to vocabulary typical of brief news items, writers of editorials make an extensive use of emotionally coloured vocabulary. Alongside political words and expressions, terms, cliches and abbreviations one can find colloquial words and expressions, slang, and professionalisms. The language of editorial articles is characterized by a combination of different strata of vocabulary, which enhances the emotional effect, for example: "...But most British people applaud the protesters. And they are sickened at the spectacle of F. O. sycophants bellycrawling to the burgomaster of a city whose administration is stiff with ex-nazi officials. "'But that's the F. O. all over. Give them a juicy specimen of some foreign

reactionary outfit and they'll slobber all over him. The more reactionary the bigger the slob." (Daily Worker) Emotional colouring in editorial articles is also achieved with the help of various stylistic devices, both lexical and syntactical, the use of which is largely traditional. Editorials abound in trite stylistic means, especially metaphors and epithets, e.g., international climate, a price explosion, a price spiral, a spectacular sight, an outrageous act, brutal rule, an astounding statement, crazy policies. Traditional periphrases are also very common in newspaper editorials, such as Wall Street (American financial circles). Downing Street (the British Government), Fleet Street (the London press), the Great Powers (the five or six biggest and strongest states), the third world (states other than socialist or capitalist), and so on. But genuine stylistic means are also frequently used, which helps the writer of the editorial to bring his idea home to the reader through the associations that genuine imagery arouses. Practically any stylistic device may be found in editorial writing, and when aptly used, such devices prove to be a powerful means of appraisal, of expressing a personal attitude to the matter in hand, of exercising the necessary emotional effect on the reader. Note the following examples: "So if the result of the visit is the burying of the cold war, the only mourners will be people like Adenauer and the arms manufacturers who profit from it. The ordinary people will dance on the grave." (Daily Worker) "Nor would Mr. Maudling, not having begotten "Neddy" himself, be necessarily keen on keeping it in existence after the life had gone out of it." (The Guardian) The stylistic effect of these sustained metaphors is essentially satirical. A similar effect is frequently achieved by the use of irony, the breaking-up of set expressions, the stylistic use of word building, by using allusions, etc. Two types of allusions can be distinguished in newspaper article writing: a. allusions to political and other facts of the day, which are indispensable and have no stylistic value, and b. historical, literary and biblical allusions which are often used to create a specific stylistic effect, largely-satirical. The emotional force of expression in the editorial is often enhanced by the use of various syntactical stylistic devices. Some editorials abound in parallel constructions, various types of repetition, rhetorical questions and other syntactical stylistic means. Yet, the role of expressive language means and stylistic devices in the editorial should not be overestimated. They stand out against the essentially neutral

background. And whatever stylistic devices one comes across in editorials, they are for the most part trite. Broadly speaking, tradition reigns supreme in the language of the newspaper. Original forms of expression and fresh genuine stylistic means are comparatively rare in newspaper articles, editorials included. However, although editorials as a specific genre of newspaper writing have common distinguishing features, the editorials in different papers vary in degree of emotional colouring and stylistic originality of expression. While these qualities are typical enough of the "popular" newspapers (those with large circulations), such as the Daily Mirror and the Daily Mail, the so-called "quality papers", as The Times and The Guardian, make rather a sparing use of the expressive and stylistic means of the language. Whatever stylistic "gems" one may encounter in the newspaper, they cannot obscure the essentially traditional mode of expression characteristic of newspaper English. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971 pp.306-319). SCIENTIFIC PROSE STYLE The language of science is governed by the aim of the functional style of scientific prose, which is to prove a hypothesis, to create new concepts, to disclose the internal laws of existence, development, relations between different phenomena, etc. The language means used, therefore, tend to be objective, precise, unemotional, devoid of any individuality; there is a striving for the most generalized form of expression. "The proper medium of scientific expression," writes E. Sa-pir, "is therefore a generalized language that may be defined as a symbolic algebra of which all known languages are translations. One can adequately translate scientific literature because the original scientific expression is itself a translation." The first and most noticeable feature of this style is the logical sequence of utterances with clear indication of their interrelations and interdependence. It will not be an exaggeration to say that in no other functional style do we find such a developed and varied system of connectives as in scientific prose. A second and no less important feature and, perhaps, the most conspicuous, is the use of terms specific to each given branch of science. It will be wise to state in passing that due to the rapid dissemination of scientific and technical ideas, particularly in what are called the exact sciences, we may observe the process of "de-terminization," that is, some scientific and technical terms begin to circulate outside the narrow field they

belong to and eventually begin to develop new meanings. But the overwhelming majority of terms do not undergo this process of de-terminization and remain the property of scientific prose. There they are born, may develop new terminological meanings and there they die. No other field of human activity is so prolific in coining new words as science is. The necessity to penetrate deeper into the essence of things and phenomena gives rise to new concepts, which require new words to name them. As has already been pointed out, a term will make more direct reference to something than a descriptive explanation, a non-term. Hence the rapid creation of new terms in any developing science. Further, the general vocabulary employed in scientific prose bears its direct referential meaning, that is, words used in scientific prose will always tend to be used in their primary logical meaning. Hardly a single word will be found here which, in contrast to the belles-lettres style, is used in more than one meaning. Nor will there be any words with contextual meaning. Even the possibility of ambiguity is avoided. Furthermore, terms are coined so as to be self-explanatory to the greatest possible degree. But in spite of this a new term in scientific prose is generally followed (or preceded) by an explanation. Likewise neutral and common literary words used in scientific prose will be explained, even if their meaning is only slightly modified, either in the context (by a parenthesis, or an attributive phrase) or in a foot-note. In modern scientific prose an interesting phenomenon can be observed - the exchange of terms between various branches of science. This is evidently due to the interpenetration of scientific ideas. Self-sufficiency in any branch of science is now a thing of the past. Collaboration of specialists in related sciences has proved successful in many fields. The exchange of terminology may therefore be regarded as a natural outcome of this collaboration. Mathematics has priority in this respect. Mathematical terms have left their own domain and travel freely in other sciences, including linguistics. A third characteristic feature of scientific style is what we may call sentencepatterns. They are of three types: postulatory, argumentative and formulative. A hypothesis, a scientific conjecture or a forecast must be based on facts already known, on facts systematized and defined. Therefore every piece of scientific prose will begin with postulatory pronouncements, which are taken as self-evident and needing no proof. A reference to these facts is only preliminary to the exposition of the writer's ideas and is therefore, summed up in precisely

formulated statements accompanied, if considered necessary, by references to sources. The writer's own ideas are also shaped in formulae, which are the enunciation of a doctrine or theory of a principle, an argument, the result of an investigation, etc. The definition sentence-pattern in a scientific utterance, that is the sentence, which sums up the argument, is generally a kind of clincher sentence. Thus in his "Linguistics and Style" Nils Eric Enkvist concludes one of his arguments in the following words: "The study of features not statable in terms of contextual probabilities of linguistic items, style markers, stylistic sets and shifts of style is not the task of stylistics but of other levels of linguistic or literary analysis." A fourth observable feature of the style of modern scientific prose, and one that strikes the eye of the reader, is the use of quotations and references. These sometimes occupy as much as half a page.2 The references also have a definite compositional pattern, namely, the name of the writer referred to, the title of the work quoted, the publishing house, the place and year it was published, and the page of the excerpt quoted or referred to. A fifth feature of scientific style, which makes it distinguishable from other styles, is the frequent use of foot-notes, not of the reference kind, but digressive in character. This is in full accord with the main requirement of the style, which is logical coherence of ideas expressed. Anything that seems to violate this requirement or seems not to be immediately relevant to the matter in hand but at the same time may serve indirectly to back up the idea will be placed in a footnote. The impersonality of scientific writings can also be considered a typical feature of this style. This quality is mainly revealed in the frequent use of passive constructions. Scientific experiments are generally described in the passive voice, for example, "Then acid was taken", instead of "I (we) then took acid." A correspondent of the Times Literary Supplement says that to write "I weighed 10 grams of aspirin and dissolved them in as little water as I could" would be 'deplorable' in a research paper. The desirable plain scientific statement, he maintains, would be "Ten grams of aspirin were dissolved in a minimum volume of water." Another correspondent objects to this mode of expression and says: "The terrible thing about that second sentence is that its infection has spread in all its falsity beyond research - into politics, religion, public statements, film scripts,

journalism. It creates the bureaucratic impression that things "were done" and that nobody "did them." Leaving aside this unreasonable protest against the established and widely recognized models of scientific syntax, we must agree that an over-use of the passive, particularly in other styles, will create the "sententious voice of boredom" as the writer puts it. And his statement, "A pen was not filled with ink this morning, but I filled my pen," will certainly be more appropriate in ordinary language. But this is not a valid argument against using such constructions in scientific prose. In connection with the general impersonal tone of expression, it should be noted that impersonal passive constructions are frequently used with the verbs suppose, assume, presume, conclude, infer, point out, etc., as in 'It should be pointed out', 'It must not be assumed', 'It must be emphasized', 'It can be inferred', etc. There is a noticeable difference in the syntactical design of utterances in the exact sciences (mathematics, chemistry, physics, etc.) and in the Humanities. The passive constructions frequently used in the scientific prose of the exact sciences are not indispensable in the Humanities. This perhaps is due to the fact that the data and methods of investigation applied in the Humanities are less objective. The necessity to quote the passages under observation and to amplify arguments seriously affects syntactical patterns. In the Humanities some seemingly wellknown pronouncement may be and often is subjected to revaluation, whereas in the exact sciences much can be accepted without question and therefore needs no comment. Here are two samples of scientific prose, one from a linguistic paper and the other from a textbook on chemistry. "The critical literature on Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" is enormous, and much of it is extremely penetrating. It may therefore come as a surprise to maintain that there are several points in the poem which are in need of further classification, and that to do so may give us not only better knowledge of the poem, but hypothesis about method which can be tested elsewhere. The criticisms fall into three main groups; those that take up some quite minor blemishes, or possible blemishes, in the Ode; a very large group that discusses at great length the equation between Truth and Beauty; and a small group which gives extended, line-by-line discussion. It is one of this latter group which alone takes up the difficulty involved in lines 28 and 29, in the possible uncertainty in the reference of "That leaves a heart high sorrowful." Here is the second sample. Sulphur Trioxide 803. It is very easy to decompose sulphurous

acid into the anhydride and water. Gentle heating will effect it, and indeed, if the solution be strong, the decomposition is spontaneous. Sulphurous acid always smells of sulphur dioxide. The decomposition of sulphuric acid into water and sulphur trioxide cannot be effected by any such simple means. The trioxide is made directly by inducing SOg to combine with more oxygen. There is always a slight tendency for SOg to pass into 803 in the presence of oxygen, but the process is too slow to be of much interest. The gases can, however, be made to react much more rapidly by the use of a suitable catalytic agent, the best known being platinum, and as the effect of the platinum depends upon its surface area it is necessary to arrange for this to be as great as possible. If a piece of asbestos fibre is steeped in a solution of platinum chloride in hydrochloric acid and then heated, the asbestos becomes coated with a thin grey coating of spongy platinum. In this way "platinised asbestos" is produced. If now a mixture of sulphur dioxide and oxygen is passed over heated platinised asbestos, the dioxide is converted into the trioxide, thus: 2S02+0=2SC>3 The apparatus is quite simple and is shown in fig. 35. The vapour of sulphur trioxide, which comes off is condensed by means of a freezing mixture into colourless ice-like needles. If this can be stored, without access to moisture, it undergoes some sort of molecular change and turns to a white silky crystalline solid. The remarkable difference between the two samples lies in the fact that the second one requires a far greater amount of preliminary knowledge than the first one. Although both samples are impersonal in form, they nevertheless differ in the amount of objectivity, the first being less objective in stating data. Further, in the first excerpt, views and opinions are expressed. In the second none are given. In both samples the syntax is governed by logical reasoning, and there are no emotional elements whatsoever. However emotiveness is not entirely or categorically excluded from scientific prose. There may be hypotheses, pronouncements and conclusions, which, being backed up by strong belief, therefore call for the use of some emotionally coloured words. Our emotional reaction to facts and ideas may bear valuable information, as it itself springs from the inner qualities of these facts and ideas. We depend in no small degree upon our emotional reactions for knowledge of the outer world. An interesting investigation was made by N. M. Razinkina into the emotive character of scientific prose of the 19th century. In some articles published in Nature, a journal, which made its first appearance in 1869, there were many emotional words used, evidently

compensating for lack of evidence and argumented facts. It was normal in the discussion on many fundamental problems to use such words as marvellous, wonderful, monstrous, magnificent, brilliant and the like to attempt proof of a hypothesis or a pronouncement. In modern scientific prose such emotional words are very seldom used. At least they are not constituents of modern scientific style. Nor can we find emotional structures or stylistic devices, which aim at rousing aesthetic feelings, reaching the paper that the language of much scientific writing is unintelligible to ordinary people uninitiated in the principles of the given science. All the participants in the discussion agreed that science must have its own language (that is its own vocabulary) and that the exposition of new ideas in science must rest on a very solid foundation of previously acquired knowledge. But what they actually meant was not only the knowledge of the terminology of the given science, but also an immediate recognition of technicalities in the text, which predetermines understanding. These pre-requisites are confined exclusively to the lexical aspect of the language. So it is not the language itself that is special, but certain words or their symbols. This perhaps explains the fact that those who know the technical nomenclature of a given science can read and understand scientific texts in a foreign language even with a poor knowledge of its grammatical structure. The characteristic features enumerated above do not cover all the peculiarities of scientific prose, but they are the most essential ones. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971 pp.319-325). THE STYLE OF OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS There is finally one more style of language within the scope of standard literary English which has become singled out, and that is the style of official documents, or "officialese" as it is sometimes called. Like other styles, it is not homogeneous and is represented by the following substyles or variants: 1. the language of business documents, 2. the language of legal documents, 3. that of diplomacy, 4. that of military documents. Like other styles of language this style has a definite communicative aim and accordingly has its own system of interrelated language and stylistic means. The main aim of this type of communication is to state the conditions binding two parties in an undertaking. These parties may be: the state and the citizen, or citizen and citizen (jurisdiction); a society and its members (statute or ordinance); two or more enterprises or bodies (business correspondence or contracts); two or more

governments (pacts, treaties); a person in authority and a subordinate (orders, regulations, instructions, authoritative directions); the board or presidium and the assembly or general meeting (procedures acts, minutes), etc. In other words the aim of communication in this style of language is to reach agreement between two contracting parties. Even protest against violations of statutes, contracts, regulations, etc., can also be regarded as a form by which normal cooperation is sought on the basis of previously attained concordance. This most general function of the style of official documents predetermines the peculiarities of the style. The most striking, though not the most essential feature, is a special system of cliches, terms and set expressions by which each substyle can easily be recognized, for example: I beg to inform you, I beg to move, I second the motion, provisional agenda, the above-mentioned, hereinafter named, on behalf of, private advisory, Dear Sir, We remain, your obedient servants. In fact each of the subdivisions of this style has its own peculiar terms, phrases and expressions, which differ from the corresponding terms, phrases and expressions of other variants of this style. Thus in finance we find terms like extra revenue, taxable capacities, liability to profit tax. Terms and phrases like high contracting parties, to ratify an agreement, memorandum, pact. Charge d'affaires, protectorate, extra-territorial status, plenipotentiary will immediately brand the utterance as diplomatic. In legal language, examples are: to deal with a case; summary procedure; a body of judges; as laid down in. Likewise other varieties of official language have their special nomenclature, which is conspicuous in the text, and therefore easily discernible. Besides the special nomenclature characteristic of each variety of the style, there is a feature common to all these varieties - the use of abbreviations, conventional symbols and contractions, for example: M. P. (Member of Parliament), Gvt (government), H. M. S. (His Majesty's Steamship), $ (dollar), Ltd (Limited). There are so many of them that there are special addenda in dictionaries to decode them. This characteristic feature was used by Dickens in his "Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club;" for instance, P. V. P., M. P. C. (Perpetual VicePresident, Member Pickwick Club); G. C. M. P. C. (General Chairman-Member Pickwick Club). These abbreviations are particularly abundant in military documents. Here they are used not only as conventional symbols but as signs of the military code, which is supposed to be known only to the initiated. Examples are: D. A. O. (Divisional ammunition Officer); adv. (advance); atk (attack); obj.

(object); A/T (anti-tank); ATAS (Air Transport auxiliary Service). Another feature of the style is the use of words in their logical dictionary meaning. Just as in the other matter-of-fact styles and in contrast intrinsically to the belles-lettres style, there is no room for words with contextual meaning or for any kind of simultaneous realization of two meanings. In military documents sometimes metaphorical names are given to mountains, rivers, hills or villages, but these metaphors are perceived as code signs and have no aesthetic value, as in: "2.102 d. Int. Div. continues atk 26 Feb. 45 to captive objs Spruce Peach and Cherry and prepares to take over objs Plum and Apple after capture by CCB, 5th armd Div." Words with emotive meaning are also not to be found in the style of official documents. Even in the style of scientific prose some words may be found which reveal the attitude of the writer, his individual evaluation of the facts and events of the issue. But no such words are to be found in official style, except those, which are used in business letters as conventional phrases of greeting or close, as Dear Sir, yours faithfully. As in all other functional styles, the distinctive properties appear as a system. We cannot single out a style by its vocabulary only, recognizable though it always is. The syntactical pattern of the style is as significant as the vocabulary though not perhaps so immediately apparent. Perhaps the most noticeable of all syntactical features are the compositional patterns of the variants of this style. Thus business letters have a definite compositional pattern, namely, the heading giving the address of the writer and the date, the name of the addressee and his address. Here is a sample of a business letter: Smith and Sons 25 Main Street Manchester 9th February, 1967 Mr. John Smith 29 Cranbourn Street London Dear Sir, We beg to inform you that by order and for account of Mr. Julian of Leeds, we have taken the liberty of drawing upon you for g 25 at three months' date to the order of Mr. Sharp. We gladly take this opportunity of placing our services at your disposal, and shall be pleased if you frequently make use of them. Respectfully yours, Smith and Sons by Jane Crawford There is every reason to believe that many of the emotional words and phrases in present-day commercial correspondence, which are not merely conventional symbols of polite address did retain their emotive meaning at earlier stages in the

development of this variety of official language. Here is an interesting sample of a business letter dated June 5, 1655. Mr. G. Dury to Secretary Tharloe, Right Honorable, The Commissary of Sweden, Mr. Bormel, doth most humbly intreat your honour to be pleased to procure him his audience from his highnesse as soon as conveniently it may be. He desires, that the same be without much ceremony, and by way of private audience. I humbly subscribe myself Your Honour's most humble and obedient servant, G. Dury. June 5, 1655. Such words and word combinations as 'most humbly,' 'intreat' (entreat), 'I humbly subscribe', 'most humble and obedient servant' and the like are too insistently repeated not to produce the desired impression of humbleness so necessary for one who asks for a favour. Almost every official document has its own compositional design. Pacts and statutes, orders and minutes, codes and memoranda all have more or less definite forms and it will not be an exaggeration to state that the form of the document is itself informative, inasmuch as it tells something about the matter dealt with (a letter, an agreement, an order, etc). In this respect we shall quote the Preamble of the Charter of the United Nations, which clearly illustrates the most peculiar form of the arrangement of an official document of agreement. CHARTER OF THE UNITED NATIONS "We the Peoples of the United Nations Determined TO SAVE succeeding generations from the scourge of war, which twice in our lifetime has brought untold sorrow to mankind, and TO REAFFIRM faith in fundamental rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men and women and of nations large and small, and TO ESTABLISH conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of international law can be maintained, and TO PROMOTE social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom, And For These Ends TO PRACTICE tolerance and live together in peace with one another as good neighbours, and TO UNITE our strength to maintain international peace and security, and TO ENSURE, by the acceptance of principles and the institution of methods, that armed force shall not be used, save in the common interest, and TO EMPLOY international machinery for the promotion of

the economic and social advancement of all peoples, Have Resolved to Combine Our Efforts to Accomplish These Aims. Accordingly, our respective Governments, through representatives assembled in the City of San Francisco, who have exhibited their full powers found to be in good and due form, have agreed to the present Charter of the United Nations and do hereby establish an international organization to be known as the United Nations." As is seen, all the reasons, which led to the decision of setting up an international organization are expressed in one sentence with parallel infinitive object clauses. Each infinitive object clause is framed as a separate paragraph thus enabling the reader to attach equal importance to each of the items mentioned. The separate sentences shaped as clauses are naturally divided not by full stops but either by commas or by semicolons. It is also an established custom to divide separate utterances by numbers, maintaining, however, the principle of dependence of all the statements on the main part of the utterance. Thus in chapter I of the U.N. Charter the purposes and principles of the charter are given in a number of predicatives, all expressed in infinitive constructions and numbered: "CHAPTER1. PURPOSES AND PRINCIPLES The Purposes of the United Nations are: 1. TO MAINTAIN international peace and security, and to that end: to take effective collective measures for the prevention and removal of threats to the peace, and for the suppression of acts of aggression or other breaches of the peace, and to bring about by peaceful means, and in conformity with the principles of justice and international law, adjustment or settlement of international disputes or situations which might lead to a breach of the peace. 2. TO DEVELOP friendly relations among nations based on respect for the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples, and to take other appropriate measures to strengthen universal peace. 3. TO ACHIEVE international cooperation on solving international problems of an economic, social, cultural, or humanitarian character and in promoting and encouraging respect for human rights and for fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to race, sex, language, or religion; and 4. TO BE A CENTRE for harmonizing the actions of nations in the attainment of these common ends." Here is another sample of an official document maintaining the same principles:

Technical Assistance Committee Expanded Programme of Technical Assistance Review of the Programme for 1956 Australia and Egypt: revised draft resolution. The Technical Assistance Committee, RECALLING THAT according to Economic and Social Council resolution 542 (XVIII) the preparation and review of the Expanded Programme and all other necessary steps should be carried out in a way that TAC ought to be in a position to approve the over-all programme and authorize allocation to participating organizations by 30 November at the latest, CONSIDERING THAT a realistic programme such as the Expanded Programme cannot be planned and formulated without prior knowledge of the financial resources available for its implementation, CONSIDERING THAT TAC, with the assistance of such ad hoc subcommittees as it may find necessary to establish, will normally need about one week to carry out the task referred to in the resolution mentioned above, bearing in mind the necessary consultations with the representatives of the participating organizations, 1. ASKS the Secretary-General to seek to arrange each year that the Pledging Conference should be convened as early as possible taking due account of all factors involved; 2. DECIDES that the Secretary-General should in future work on the assumption that in carrying out the functions of approving the programme and authorizing allocations as required by Economic and Social Council resolution 542 (XVIII), the TAC will usually need to meet for one week; 3. REQUESTS further the Secretary-General to transmit this resolution to all States Members and non-members of the United Nations which participate in the Expanded Programme." 55-29330 In no other style of language will such an arrangement of utterance te found. In fact the whole document is one sentence from the point of view of its formal syntactical structure. The subject of the sentence 'The Technical Assistance Committee' is followed by a number of participial constructions - 'Recalling'-, 'Considering' -, 'Considering' -, is cut off by a comma from them and from the homogeneous predicates, 'Asks', 'Decides', 'Requests'. Every predicate structure is numbered and begins with a capital letter just as the participial constructions.

This structurally illogical way of combining different ideas has its sense. In the text just quoted the reason for such a structural pattern probably lies in the intention to show the equality of the items and similar dependence of the participial constructions on the predicate constructions. "In legal English," writes H. Whitehall, "...a significant judgement may depend on the exact relations between words. ...The language of the law is written not so much to be understood as not to be misunderstood."1 As is seen from the different samples above, the over-all code of the official style falls into a system of subcodes, each characterized by its own terminological nomenclature, its own compositional form, its own variety of syntactical arrangements. But the integrating features of all these subcodes emanating from the general aim of agreement between parties, remain the following: 1) conventionality of expression; 2) absence of any emotiveness; 3) the encoded character of language; symbols (including abbreviations) and 4) a general syntactical mode of combining several pronouncements into one sentence. (I.R.Galperin. Stylistics. M., 1971 pp.325-332).

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CONTENTS Introduction.. 3 Gneral Notes on Style and Stylistics. 4 Expressive Means (EM) and Stylistic Devices (SD) 17 Some Notes on the Problem of the English Literary Language (Standard English)... 22 A Brief Outline of the Development of the English Literary Language...26 Varieties of Languages . 40 Types of Lexical Meaning .46 Stylistic Classification of the English Vocabulary. General Considerations 53 Neutral, Common Literary and Common Colloquial Vocabulary54 Special Literary Vocabulary .. . 58 Special Colloquial Vocabulary 84 Practical Exercises ..103 Phonetic Expressive Means and Stylistic Devices...114 Practical exercise... .126 Lexical Expressive Means and Stylistic Devices 129 Intentional Mixing of the Stylistic Aspect of Words..132 Interaction of Different Types of Lexical Meaning. ..132 Interaction of Dictionary and Contextual Logical Meanings133 Interaction of Primary and Derivative Logical Meanings141 Interaction of Logical and Emotive Meanings...145 Interaction of Logical and Nominal Meanings..156 Intensification of a Certain Feature of a Thing or Phenomenon.......158 Peculiar Use of Set Expressions168 Practical Exercise. .....182 Syntactic Expressive Means and Stylistic Devices.199 Problems Concerning the Composition of Spans of Utterance Wider Than the Sentence..201

Particular Ways of Combining Parts of the Utterance..233 Peculiar Use of Colloquial Constructions .....240 Transferred Use of Structural Meaning ...253

Stylistic and Grammatical Morphology258

Practical exercises.271 Guide to Lexico-Syntactical Stylistic Devices. Exercises...............280 Functional Styles of the English Language..291 The Belles-Lettres Style...292 Language of Poetry..294 Emotive Prose..313 Language of the Drama 325 Publicistic Style.. 332 Oratory and Speeches...333 The Essay......338 Articles..340 Newspaper Style..341 Brief News Items...344 The Headline ...347 Advertisments and Announcements ...350 The Editorial ...351 Scientific Prose Style353 The Style of Official Documents359 Bibliography...367 Contents..375